175 Days (part 1)
Title: 175 Days
Pairing: ville/other, vam
Rating: R (language)
Summary: dealing with broken hearts
Disclaimer: not mine, just borrowed, played with, and sent home tired but happy
A/N: dont stick pins in my voodoo effigy, please...it gets better, cross m' heart...
He sat in his sparse dressing room back stage, uncharacteristically alone after their set, the room black except for a single lit candle, still dressed in sweat-drenched stage clothes, a black towel draped loosely over his shoulders. A half-empty bottle of amber whiskey rested against one slim leg as he sat on the floor, cold concrete wall to his back. Smoke from the lit cigarette in his hand coiled around his head, wreathing him in shadowy blue tendrils.
He was exhausted. Not just the usual tired he felt after a show, but bone tired. Physically and emotionally. The last few months had been hard on him, first with Bam's goddamn wedding, then the pressure from that bitch Jonna to do the same, which had inevitably led to one hell of a fight. He'd finally thrown her out for good this time, and she, of course, had to have the last word - going back to the house as soon as he went back on the road and destroying the place. He still hadnt seen the damage himself, but his brother told him she had really done a number on his things. Now he was on the fucking tour from hell. If it wasnt sound problems, it was lighting problems. If it wasnt lighting problems, it was a broken down tour bus. Even when the damn bus got them where they needed to be, half his damn wardrobe turned up missing. Ever since he came back from the States after Bam's wedding, things had gone completely and utterly to shit.
Someone pounded on the closed door, and he just sat there with his eyes closed, shutting out the intrusive sounds, not willing to give up the minute peace he'd found sitting here in the dark. He heard the metallic click of that same someone trying the door handle, and couldnt help smirking, lips twisting into an almost-smile. Fucker. He'd locked it, so bloody neener neener. No one was getting in. He lifted his middle finger in salute to whomever was on the other side of the door, still pounding and yelling for him to open up, then tilted the bottle to his mouth, the rich oak taste of the whisky slipping down nice and smooth as he drank deeply.
Whoever was hammering on the door gave up after a few minutes, and Ville grimaced, lighting another cigarette. He knew from experience they'd be back, only with the key this time. He hadnt bothered telling anyone the cause of his moods this trip, but it didnt take a genius to guess and he wasnt in the mood for another lecture of the "we love you and hate to see you so unhappy" variety.
He dragged himself to his feet, taking another long pull on the bottle before facing his reflection in the dressing room mirror. Fuck. He looked like shit - pale skin verging on pasty, huge circles under his eyes that were more than just the smudged eyeliner streaking his face. Even his hair sucked, wet and limp after the set they did earlier. He picked up a tissue to clean away the black streaks under his eyes, the heart tattooed on his wrist catching his eye in the movement. Same heart as Bam. Fuck.
Fuck, fuck, fuck!
He furiously crumpled the tissue and threw it on the floor, leaving his face streaked. The room felt too hot all of a sudden, too small. There was no air. He couldnt breathe. He couldnt see anything but blue eyes. Blue eyes that dissolved as his own filled with unshed tears. With a strangled growl, he grabbed his coat and the bottle, slamming the door open as he practically ran from the room.
Luck was with him, either that or the look on his face was sufficiently forbidding, because he made it out of the building and into the back alley without anyone trying to stop him. He paused there, leaning against the cold brick, his eyes closed, gulping in the cool night air, bottle dangling from his hand.
"Dude...I know you! You're Ville Valo, from HIM!" There was no mistaking the excited pitch in the voice that broke the silence. Great. Another fan. Time to suck it up. Ville took a deep breath, composed his features into a smile and turned to face the young man who was practically bouncing up and down a few feet away.
"Hello, dar...." The words died in his throat as he found himself staring into blue eyes. Bam's eyes. The bottle slipped from his hand, shattering on the pavement, and the sudden acrid scent of alcohol enveloped them, the crash jolting his senses, making him flinch, blink. No, not Bam. Just another blue eyed, dark haired man with an easy smile. A nameless blue-eyed man looking at him with that combination of fandom and adoration in his eyes. Almost the way Bam used to.
"Damn." His voice was dry, deep, accent thicker than usual. "My poor bottle." He glanced at the man from under long bangs, green eyes glittering in the neon street lights. His lips curled, pretty little pout on his face, a pout that triggered the desired response as he noted a slight flaring of the other man's nostrils, an answering smile curving his lips as well. "I suppose we need to find another one somewhere."
He shoved his hands in his pockets, hugging his coat to his slender frame and took a few steps before pausing to look over his shoulder at the blue-eyed man. "Coming?"
Blue-eyes never paused, nodding and falling into step with the older Finn. "Love to."
A/N: i know, i know...where's the vam love? more to come...
Pairing: ville/other, vam
Rating: R (language)
Summary: dealing with broken hearts
Disclaimer: not mine, just borrowed, played with, and sent home tired but happy
A/N: dont stick pins in my voodoo effigy, please...it gets better, cross m' heart...
He sat in his sparse dressing room back stage, uncharacteristically alone after their set, the room black except for a single lit candle, still dressed in sweat-drenched stage clothes, a black towel draped loosely over his shoulders. A half-empty bottle of amber whiskey rested against one slim leg as he sat on the floor, cold concrete wall to his back. Smoke from the lit cigarette in his hand coiled around his head, wreathing him in shadowy blue tendrils.
He was exhausted. Not just the usual tired he felt after a show, but bone tired. Physically and emotionally. The last few months had been hard on him, first with Bam's goddamn wedding, then the pressure from that bitch Jonna to do the same, which had inevitably led to one hell of a fight. He'd finally thrown her out for good this time, and she, of course, had to have the last word - going back to the house as soon as he went back on the road and destroying the place. He still hadnt seen the damage himself, but his brother told him she had really done a number on his things. Now he was on the fucking tour from hell. If it wasnt sound problems, it was lighting problems. If it wasnt lighting problems, it was a broken down tour bus. Even when the damn bus got them where they needed to be, half his damn wardrobe turned up missing. Ever since he came back from the States after Bam's wedding, things had gone completely and utterly to shit.
Someone pounded on the closed door, and he just sat there with his eyes closed, shutting out the intrusive sounds, not willing to give up the minute peace he'd found sitting here in the dark. He heard the metallic click of that same someone trying the door handle, and couldnt help smirking, lips twisting into an almost-smile. Fucker. He'd locked it, so bloody neener neener. No one was getting in. He lifted his middle finger in salute to whomever was on the other side of the door, still pounding and yelling for him to open up, then tilted the bottle to his mouth, the rich oak taste of the whisky slipping down nice and smooth as he drank deeply.
Whoever was hammering on the door gave up after a few minutes, and Ville grimaced, lighting another cigarette. He knew from experience they'd be back, only with the key this time. He hadnt bothered telling anyone the cause of his moods this trip, but it didnt take a genius to guess and he wasnt in the mood for another lecture of the "we love you and hate to see you so unhappy" variety.
He dragged himself to his feet, taking another long pull on the bottle before facing his reflection in the dressing room mirror. Fuck. He looked like shit - pale skin verging on pasty, huge circles under his eyes that were more than just the smudged eyeliner streaking his face. Even his hair sucked, wet and limp after the set they did earlier. He picked up a tissue to clean away the black streaks under his eyes, the heart tattooed on his wrist catching his eye in the movement. Same heart as Bam. Fuck.
Fuck, fuck, fuck!
He furiously crumpled the tissue and threw it on the floor, leaving his face streaked. The room felt too hot all of a sudden, too small. There was no air. He couldnt breathe. He couldnt see anything but blue eyes. Blue eyes that dissolved as his own filled with unshed tears. With a strangled growl, he grabbed his coat and the bottle, slamming the door open as he practically ran from the room.
Luck was with him, either that or the look on his face was sufficiently forbidding, because he made it out of the building and into the back alley without anyone trying to stop him. He paused there, leaning against the cold brick, his eyes closed, gulping in the cool night air, bottle dangling from his hand.
"Dude...I know you! You're Ville Valo, from HIM!" There was no mistaking the excited pitch in the voice that broke the silence. Great. Another fan. Time to suck it up. Ville took a deep breath, composed his features into a smile and turned to face the young man who was practically bouncing up and down a few feet away.
"Hello, dar...." The words died in his throat as he found himself staring into blue eyes. Bam's eyes. The bottle slipped from his hand, shattering on the pavement, and the sudden acrid scent of alcohol enveloped them, the crash jolting his senses, making him flinch, blink. No, not Bam. Just another blue eyed, dark haired man with an easy smile. A nameless blue-eyed man looking at him with that combination of fandom and adoration in his eyes. Almost the way Bam used to.
"Damn." His voice was dry, deep, accent thicker than usual. "My poor bottle." He glanced at the man from under long bangs, green eyes glittering in the neon street lights. His lips curled, pretty little pout on his face, a pout that triggered the desired response as he noted a slight flaring of the other man's nostrils, an answering smile curving his lips as well. "I suppose we need to find another one somewhere."
He shoved his hands in his pockets, hugging his coat to his slender frame and took a few steps before pausing to look over his shoulder at the blue-eyed man. "Coming?"
Blue-eyes never paused, nodding and falling into step with the older Finn. "Love to."
A/N: i know, i know...where's the vam love? more to come...