Vam fic // Until that boy is mine, oneshot
Title: Until that boy is mine
Author: messandlore
Pairing: Vam, implied Ville/Jonna & Bam/Missy.
Rating: NC-17
Summary: "Love is like a brick. You can build a house, or you can sink a dead body."
Disclaimer: It’s all made up for entertainment purposes only, no profit is made, I don’t own anyone in the story nor the song used, please don’t sue me, I am poor enough as it is.
Warnings: Heavy subject matter, readers’ discretion is advised.
AN: Being the sporadic pseudo-writer that I am, I feel my style and abilities have not yet been exercised properly, but oh well, I’m trying. And this is my first attempt at songfic, so do treat me gently. Like a virgin, if you can. And major thanks to my lovely snickers_wiggle for boosting up my ego so beautifully.
We are the crowd, we're co-coming out
Got my flash on, it's true, need that picture of you
It's so magical, we'd be so fantastical
Leather and jeans, garage glamorous
Not sure what it means, but this photo of us
It don't have a price, ready for those flashing lights
'Cause you know that, baby, I...
It all seemed harmless enough, another band, another musical crush to drown out the background noise of his skateboard connecting against concrete, rails and sometimes his own head, but there was something about the voice that crooned those heartbreaking lyrics that just got to him. It sounded almost too good to be true, too perfect and made up to suit everything he’d been writhing to in his bed sheets late at night. And then there was the image of the singer that was painfully beautiful. An innate rockstar, too feminine to be a man, and yet too masculine to be girly. Confusion set in, mind in overdrive with sheer desire and want, needing to be much closer of that creature, to touch it and devour it whole.
I'm your biggest fan, I'll follow you until you love me
Papa-Paparazzi
Baby, there's no other superstar, you know that I'll be
Papa-Paparazzi
Promise I'll be kind, but I won't stop until that boy is mine
Baby, you'll be famous, chase you down until you love me
Papa-paparazzi
Fame had paid off well. A Ferrari at age seventeen, money for being exactly who he was and a pass to wherever he needed to go. And, in this case, he needed to get backstage.
“Hi, I’m Bam from MTV.”
A handful of beers he barely even knew how to drink and a few praising words and he already felt a connection building up, and he planned to make the most of it, milk out every drop until he satisfied his needs. No one said “no” to him.
I'll be your girl backstage at show
Velvet ropes and guitars, yeah, 'cause you're my rockstar
In between the sets, eyeliner and cigarettes
Shadow is burnt, yellow dance and return
My lashes are dry, purple teardrops I cry
It don't have a price, loving you is Cherry Pie
'Cause you know that, baby, I...
It might have taken longer than he would’ve hoped and it might have been against his target’s will at first, but he was infiltrated in the world he so craved to be a part of and there was no letting go. From there, convincing the singer to spend the night with him because “his room was bigger and his bed more comfortable” was only a matter of carefully chosen words and equally carefully placed glasses of all the alcohol the bartender would allow him to buy.
Everything was new and exciting, every touch, gasp, scratch and thrust, painful and delightful, freezing and burning, blissfully fast and tortuously slow. And he couldn’t get enough. Again, and again, and again until there was no voice left in his throat to howl his now lover’s name, letting each silent scream speak louder than any distorted guitar had ever done.
He’d always been the kind to wear his battle scars with pride, and this situation was no different. At first it was skipping the after sex shower to carry the combined smell of skin, sweat and come wherever he went; then it was the other’s clothes he picked up from the floor to put in his bag, convincing the owner he’d lost them in his drunken stupor. They were his prizes, and the constant reminder that he couldn’t be stopped, after all, he’d gotten what he wanted even after he was deemed crazy by everyone around him.
Real good, we're dancing in the studio
Snap, snap to that shit on the radio
Don't stop for anyone
We're plastic but we still have fun
He didn’t know how or who had started it, but things began to get out of hand fast. All-night drinking binges began to last for weeks at a time, and there were few memories in the morning to muse on, and it was perfect. It was their escape from the pressures of “real life”, commitments made against their will on particularly bad hangover mornings and burdening obligations blinding their future. He pushed it further and further until both were on the brink of insanity and had no choice but to go their separate ways before complete destruction took over.
I'm your biggest fan, I'll follow you until you love me
Papa-Paparazzi
Baby there's no other superstar, you know that I'll be
Papa-Paparazzi
Promise I'll be kind, but I won't stop until that boy is mine
Baby, you'll be famous, chase you down until you love me
Papa-paparazzi
Fast forward a few years and it all seemed like a dream. And, as it often happens when waking up from a good dream, he desperately tried to close his eyes again and recreate it to his best memory. Only he hadn’t realized his memory betrayed him and made it all far sweeter than it had actually been. His former lover had moved on from him for the sake of his health, both physical and mental, and blamed their mock up of a relationship on too much intoxicants and too few years on their backs. But the once skater wouldn’t have any of it. He’d spent too much time, money and energy on his obsession and he wouldn’t accept losing it for anything. First, he drowned himself in all the alcohol, drugs and women’s legs as he could, as publicly as possible, to try and get back the attention he lost, and to hurt his target as much as his absence hurt him. When that failed, he got a tattoo of the singer’s face on his arm, gathered his things and bought a plane ticket to Finland.
“Bam, what are you doing here?”
He never saw it coming. By the time he felt the bullet in his chest, he was already halfway to passing out from blood loss.
As Bam stood there, gun in hand and an itch on his freshly inked arm, he knew he’d finally gotten what he wanted. If Ville wouldn’t be his, he wouldn’t be anyone else’s.
Author: messandlore
Pairing: Vam, implied Ville/Jonna & Bam/Missy.
Rating: NC-17
Summary: "Love is like a brick. You can build a house, or you can sink a dead body."
Disclaimer: It’s all made up for entertainment purposes only, no profit is made, I don’t own anyone in the story nor the song used, please don’t sue me, I am poor enough as it is.
Warnings: Heavy subject matter, readers’ discretion is advised.
AN: Being the sporadic pseudo-writer that I am, I feel my style and abilities have not yet been exercised properly, but oh well, I’m trying. And this is my first attempt at songfic, so do treat me gently. Like a virgin, if you can. And major thanks to my lovely snickers_wiggle for boosting up my ego so beautifully.
We are the crowd, we're co-coming out
Got my flash on, it's true, need that picture of you
It's so magical, we'd be so fantastical
Leather and jeans, garage glamorous
Not sure what it means, but this photo of us
It don't have a price, ready for those flashing lights
'Cause you know that, baby, I...
It all seemed harmless enough, another band, another musical crush to drown out the background noise of his skateboard connecting against concrete, rails and sometimes his own head, but there was something about the voice that crooned those heartbreaking lyrics that just got to him. It sounded almost too good to be true, too perfect and made up to suit everything he’d been writhing to in his bed sheets late at night. And then there was the image of the singer that was painfully beautiful. An innate rockstar, too feminine to be a man, and yet too masculine to be girly. Confusion set in, mind in overdrive with sheer desire and want, needing to be much closer of that creature, to touch it and devour it whole.
I'm your biggest fan, I'll follow you until you love me
Papa-Paparazzi
Baby, there's no other superstar, you know that I'll be
Papa-Paparazzi
Promise I'll be kind, but I won't stop until that boy is mine
Baby, you'll be famous, chase you down until you love me
Papa-paparazzi
Fame had paid off well. A Ferrari at age seventeen, money for being exactly who he was and a pass to wherever he needed to go. And, in this case, he needed to get backstage.
“Hi, I’m Bam from MTV.”
A handful of beers he barely even knew how to drink and a few praising words and he already felt a connection building up, and he planned to make the most of it, milk out every drop until he satisfied his needs. No one said “no” to him.
I'll be your girl backstage at show
Velvet ropes and guitars, yeah, 'cause you're my rockstar
In between the sets, eyeliner and cigarettes
Shadow is burnt, yellow dance and return
My lashes are dry, purple teardrops I cry
It don't have a price, loving you is Cherry Pie
'Cause you know that, baby, I...
It might have taken longer than he would’ve hoped and it might have been against his target’s will at first, but he was infiltrated in the world he so craved to be a part of and there was no letting go. From there, convincing the singer to spend the night with him because “his room was bigger and his bed more comfortable” was only a matter of carefully chosen words and equally carefully placed glasses of all the alcohol the bartender would allow him to buy.
Everything was new and exciting, every touch, gasp, scratch and thrust, painful and delightful, freezing and burning, blissfully fast and tortuously slow. And he couldn’t get enough. Again, and again, and again until there was no voice left in his throat to howl his now lover’s name, letting each silent scream speak louder than any distorted guitar had ever done.
He’d always been the kind to wear his battle scars with pride, and this situation was no different. At first it was skipping the after sex shower to carry the combined smell of skin, sweat and come wherever he went; then it was the other’s clothes he picked up from the floor to put in his bag, convincing the owner he’d lost them in his drunken stupor. They were his prizes, and the constant reminder that he couldn’t be stopped, after all, he’d gotten what he wanted even after he was deemed crazy by everyone around him.
Real good, we're dancing in the studio
Snap, snap to that shit on the radio
Don't stop for anyone
We're plastic but we still have fun
He didn’t know how or who had started it, but things began to get out of hand fast. All-night drinking binges began to last for weeks at a time, and there were few memories in the morning to muse on, and it was perfect. It was their escape from the pressures of “real life”, commitments made against their will on particularly bad hangover mornings and burdening obligations blinding their future. He pushed it further and further until both were on the brink of insanity and had no choice but to go their separate ways before complete destruction took over.
I'm your biggest fan, I'll follow you until you love me
Papa-Paparazzi
Baby there's no other superstar, you know that I'll be
Papa-Paparazzi
Promise I'll be kind, but I won't stop until that boy is mine
Baby, you'll be famous, chase you down until you love me
Papa-paparazzi
Fast forward a few years and it all seemed like a dream. And, as it often happens when waking up from a good dream, he desperately tried to close his eyes again and recreate it to his best memory. Only he hadn’t realized his memory betrayed him and made it all far sweeter than it had actually been. His former lover had moved on from him for the sake of his health, both physical and mental, and blamed their mock up of a relationship on too much intoxicants and too few years on their backs. But the once skater wouldn’t have any of it. He’d spent too much time, money and energy on his obsession and he wouldn’t accept losing it for anything. First, he drowned himself in all the alcohol, drugs and women’s legs as he could, as publicly as possible, to try and get back the attention he lost, and to hurt his target as much as his absence hurt him. When that failed, he got a tattoo of the singer’s face on his arm, gathered his things and bought a plane ticket to Finland.
“Bam, what are you doing here?”
He never saw it coming. By the time he felt the bullet in his chest, he was already halfway to passing out from blood loss.
As Bam stood there, gun in hand and an itch on his freshly inked arm, he knew he’d finally gotten what he wanted. If Ville wouldn’t be his, he wouldn’t be anyone else’s.