(no subject)
Bam zippered up the tightest pair of leather pants he could fit into and not rip a seam. He creaked a little as he walked, but no matter; he'd break them in soon enough. He folded up his jeans and grabbed his beat up Vans. No skater shoes for him today either; he'd picked out a pair of chunky-heeled, flat black, buckle, boots. In his other hand were his wallet, hat, and a sleek vest. Hours upon hours of trolling through goth, S&M, and leatherman shops had paid off in the perfect outfit. As he came in sight of the cashier he flashed him a cocky grin.
"Is this it?" The young man twirled his finger, and Bam turned 360 degrees.
"Absolutely. What's the occasion/" he asked as he run up Bam's purchases.
"What makes you think this is special?" queried the skater.
"Turn around please, the tag is on the- thanks." He pushed a couple buttons and bagged Bam's street clothes.
"I say so cuz I've never seen you out and about in our scene. Do you want to wear this out?" he indicated the hat and vest. Bam waved them away.
"In the bag, if it's cool."
"Uh, no, it's not." Chuckled the man, his eyebrows drawn together and a grin playing on his lips. He handed Bam the grey paper bag.
"Enjoy, whatever it is." Bam gave him a soldier's salute as the door chime jingled overhead.
-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-___
"You nearly ready to go?" Bam squirted another glob of tattoo cover-up onto his arm."
"Yeah- yes. Can you give me another five minutes?"
"Only five, but then we gotta play your intro."
"That works, I'll be out there." Sponging in the creamy substance always took forever. He almost wished now that he hadn't gone through with his plan; now it was too late though, and he'd have to finish or not be able to stand his own company for the rest of his life. Bam dropped the sponge in a waste basket near the door of the dressing room, snatching his Master hat off the hat stand and bolting for the stage. He was buttoning up the back of his executioner mask just as the first riff of HIM's Wicked Game blared over the speakers. He motioned to a stage hand, who gave him the green light.
!_!-!_!
Up on stage Bam was transformed. The same way a chubby teenager had found himself on a skateboard, an insecure man burnt up a blue-lit platform. Hoping to find an answer from someone in the audience. A man, so slender and pale as to disappear in the shadow of the club; not quite though, for Bam could spot him anywhere, and he found him now. Sipping on a diet coke, surrounded by friends, sat Ville Valo, watching him tear up the club with profound interest. Usually, Ville bailed, or excused himself to the bathroom, whenever a song of his was played anywhere. Not this time. Here Bam captured him; his leather a slim shell between the crowd and muscular thighs wanting desperately to wrap around the singer's waist.
However Ville would remain oblivious. That Bam had made sure of. Signing up for an "armature" night at The Key, in a different state, tattoos gone undercover, and a mask to hide his need and frustration. To give him some dignity too, afterward in his room, where he'd have a private breakdown. Ville would never in a million years guess the face under the deerskin facade, since even his big blues were disguised under rounded industrial goggles. Bam didn't have the balls to do something like this, so he never did worry.
As the song neared its end Bam undid his vest and let it slide to the ground. He dug his fingers into his rubs, letting out a moan that he knew sent shivers up Ville's spine. He sank to his knees, breathing heavily, slowly unzipping is pants. Once he had it open he swung around so he was in profile. His mouth open in a continued gasp, he lay on his back and lifted his hips, boots planted firmly apart. Turning his masked face towards the crowd he began to peel away the leather, his hands revealing his tan legs inch by agonizing inch. Writing around he managed to get them off, even past his boots, the two rips he'd planned drawing yelps from his adoring audience. As Ville's recorded voice began "Nobody loves no one" he stood and threw the pants down with the vest; by the end of the very last note he crumpled to the floor, his chest heaving and his arms and legs akimbo, naked save for his hat, mask, and boots. The entire club roared their collective pleasure, and he grinned, sated for the time being. His parents wouldn't be proud, but at least he did what he did well. Just like his skating.
-_-_-_-_-_------
"Hey, you let me know if you need anything, okay? Good job tonight. Bam nodded, toweling off the back of his neck. He'd taken the goggles off, but he liked the effect of the mask. He decided he wouldn't take it off until the very end. As he dried off a knock disturbed him. It was a quiet, if not timid, knock, and he supposed it was another stage hand come to offer assistance and congratulations. Bringing down this particular house was apparently a rare feat.
"S'open." he answered.
"Are you busy/" The tone of that voice made Bam's knees weak. Not from desire, no, this time from fear. Ville Valo was standing behind him, in the dressing room of a Boylesque club on armature night, and he was as naked as could be. Not that nudity had ever been a problem before; they'd fallen into "drunk buddy" beds too many times to count, but this- this could put a wrench in everything. He was sweating, and as good a formula as Kat's brand of cover-up was, it wasn't really meant as performance resistant. Bam hoped none of his tattoos were showing. Back in the day, when Ville liked his Jack Daniels as much as the next guy, hiding blatantly obvious body art wouldn't have been difficult. Just swaying a little would have done the trick. Tonight- tonight- well, he just banked on his lucky star to carry him through.
"I'm, uh, I'm cleaning up. Did you like the show?" Ville's eyes followed Bam's toned ass as it went about its business.
"Yeah, good lot tonight. Yours was my favorite I gotta admit."
"Thanks. I appreciate it. Look, though, I'm- I'm not for hire or anything." A talent for mimicry was thankfully in Bam's possession, and he lost his Pennsylvanian accent to a raspy growl.
"Oh, yeah- I mean no- that's not what I came for. I just wanted to meet you." Finding his goggles, Bam hurriedly slipped them on, and he turned at last to see his long-time crush admiring him. How long had he he wanted Ville to look at him like that? Only ages, and now that the rocker seemed to want to eat him up he wasn't even himself. It made him want to scream.
"I'm not going to give you my num- what?" Suddenly Ville's look had changed to one of befuddlement.
"Vi- uh- guy, are you okay? What's up?" Ville gave him a once over, surveying him. As he came closer his brow furrowed and his green eyes darkened.
"Take that thing off."
"What? Who the fuck-" Ville got to within an inch of Bam's face.
"Take off the fucking leather, all of it." Taken aback, Bam reached for his boot laces. "No, the goggles first."
As he reached for them he mumbled "Look, I don't know what-" but he stopped. There wasn't any argument he could make. Plain as day on his right hand, his "BOOK" marked him, destroying his disguise. In his rush he'd forgotten to cover it, since he'd been using it to plaster the rest of his body. Sighing, he finished pulling off his goggles. He undid the buttons on his mask, drawing off his headgear in one piece. The cool air after all that time pent up would have been a relief if he wasn't blushing so hard.
"Bam?" Ville was speechless, his eyes uneasy. "What the Hell is this?"
"Exactly what it looks like, Zille Zalo." quipped the younger man. He threw his stuff on the vanity. "Trying to impress you as always." His shoulders slumped, but he refused to find the nearest couch and collapse. Better, he figured, to get it over and done with now.
"In A-" Bam held up his hand.
"I called Seppo to ask when your next day off. Then I told Mige you al should swing by here, that the whole band would have fun."
"Of all places... a fetish club in A-"
"Yeah, yeah, but, what the fuck? Go big or go home; that's my motto, and it always will be." His knees were starting to shake, and so was his self-control. If Ville didn't leave soon he was going to embarrass himself further by becoming a sobbing mess at his feet. An infinite pause stretched on. The glow from the "Diva" mirrors, as Bam called them, cast the debauched space in a glamorous light. Ville's skin glowed and his light tan looked healthy in spite of how clammy he felt. A heap pf red sequined cloth dumped in a corner shimmered brilliantly, as if it were going t leap into flame any moment. Maybe if he rubbed it it would take him home.
"I didn't know you could dance." Bam couldn't have been caught more off guard in his life. Not a "We can't be friends if you're going to stalk me." or a "Yeah, I can't deal with this bullshit." Just a simple fact: Ville hadn't known ha could dance, and now he did.
"Maybe I could teach you." What the Hell? Might as well play all the cards, even the risky ones.
"I think we could arrange that. I've been thinking about classes for a while." Ville drew Bam into a hug. Bam's skin tickled where the Finn's rough denim touched him. "To think I'd never have known..." Ville pushed Bam's curls out of his eyes.
"I didn't think it would work. I didn't think you wanted me." Ville kissed him, his hands neatly cradling Bam's skull, not giving him an inch of give until he was done.
"Bam, you have no fucking clue what you do- what you've done, for so long. Fuck, and with that ass in leather." He cupped the man's right cheek. "I almost want you to put them back on." Bam knocked Ville's beanie off, tearing his jacket and leading him to a ripped Victorian love seat.
"Hell no, you don't know what it takes to get those fuckers on." Ville tossed away his shirt, leaning up to kiss him again. Their tongues battled for supremacy as they finished disrobing.
"Fine," said Ville when they broke for air, "just put the hat back on." Bam reached for his discarded gear, but Ville grabbed his wrist.
"No, only the hat. I want to see you."
"Is this it?" The young man twirled his finger, and Bam turned 360 degrees.
"Absolutely. What's the occasion/" he asked as he run up Bam's purchases.
"What makes you think this is special?" queried the skater.
"Turn around please, the tag is on the- thanks." He pushed a couple buttons and bagged Bam's street clothes.
"I say so cuz I've never seen you out and about in our scene. Do you want to wear this out?" he indicated the hat and vest. Bam waved them away.
"In the bag, if it's cool."
"Uh, no, it's not." Chuckled the man, his eyebrows drawn together and a grin playing on his lips. He handed Bam the grey paper bag.
"Enjoy, whatever it is." Bam gave him a soldier's salute as the door chime jingled overhead.
-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-___
"You nearly ready to go?" Bam squirted another glob of tattoo cover-up onto his arm."
"Yeah- yes. Can you give me another five minutes?"
"Only five, but then we gotta play your intro."
"That works, I'll be out there." Sponging in the creamy substance always took forever. He almost wished now that he hadn't gone through with his plan; now it was too late though, and he'd have to finish or not be able to stand his own company for the rest of his life. Bam dropped the sponge in a waste basket near the door of the dressing room, snatching his Master hat off the hat stand and bolting for the stage. He was buttoning up the back of his executioner mask just as the first riff of HIM's Wicked Game blared over the speakers. He motioned to a stage hand, who gave him the green light.
!_!-!_!
Up on stage Bam was transformed. The same way a chubby teenager had found himself on a skateboard, an insecure man burnt up a blue-lit platform. Hoping to find an answer from someone in the audience. A man, so slender and pale as to disappear in the shadow of the club; not quite though, for Bam could spot him anywhere, and he found him now. Sipping on a diet coke, surrounded by friends, sat Ville Valo, watching him tear up the club with profound interest. Usually, Ville bailed, or excused himself to the bathroom, whenever a song of his was played anywhere. Not this time. Here Bam captured him; his leather a slim shell between the crowd and muscular thighs wanting desperately to wrap around the singer's waist.
However Ville would remain oblivious. That Bam had made sure of. Signing up for an "armature" night at The Key, in a different state, tattoos gone undercover, and a mask to hide his need and frustration. To give him some dignity too, afterward in his room, where he'd have a private breakdown. Ville would never in a million years guess the face under the deerskin facade, since even his big blues were disguised under rounded industrial goggles. Bam didn't have the balls to do something like this, so he never did worry.
As the song neared its end Bam undid his vest and let it slide to the ground. He dug his fingers into his rubs, letting out a moan that he knew sent shivers up Ville's spine. He sank to his knees, breathing heavily, slowly unzipping is pants. Once he had it open he swung around so he was in profile. His mouth open in a continued gasp, he lay on his back and lifted his hips, boots planted firmly apart. Turning his masked face towards the crowd he began to peel away the leather, his hands revealing his tan legs inch by agonizing inch. Writing around he managed to get them off, even past his boots, the two rips he'd planned drawing yelps from his adoring audience. As Ville's recorded voice began "Nobody loves no one" he stood and threw the pants down with the vest; by the end of the very last note he crumpled to the floor, his chest heaving and his arms and legs akimbo, naked save for his hat, mask, and boots. The entire club roared their collective pleasure, and he grinned, sated for the time being. His parents wouldn't be proud, but at least he did what he did well. Just like his skating.
-_-_-_-_-_------
"Hey, you let me know if you need anything, okay? Good job tonight. Bam nodded, toweling off the back of his neck. He'd taken the goggles off, but he liked the effect of the mask. He decided he wouldn't take it off until the very end. As he dried off a knock disturbed him. It was a quiet, if not timid, knock, and he supposed it was another stage hand come to offer assistance and congratulations. Bringing down this particular house was apparently a rare feat.
"S'open." he answered.
"Are you busy/" The tone of that voice made Bam's knees weak. Not from desire, no, this time from fear. Ville Valo was standing behind him, in the dressing room of a Boylesque club on armature night, and he was as naked as could be. Not that nudity had ever been a problem before; they'd fallen into "drunk buddy" beds too many times to count, but this- this could put a wrench in everything. He was sweating, and as good a formula as Kat's brand of cover-up was, it wasn't really meant as performance resistant. Bam hoped none of his tattoos were showing. Back in the day, when Ville liked his Jack Daniels as much as the next guy, hiding blatantly obvious body art wouldn't have been difficult. Just swaying a little would have done the trick. Tonight- tonight- well, he just banked on his lucky star to carry him through.
"I'm, uh, I'm cleaning up. Did you like the show?" Ville's eyes followed Bam's toned ass as it went about its business.
"Yeah, good lot tonight. Yours was my favorite I gotta admit."
"Thanks. I appreciate it. Look, though, I'm- I'm not for hire or anything." A talent for mimicry was thankfully in Bam's possession, and he lost his Pennsylvanian accent to a raspy growl.
"Oh, yeah- I mean no- that's not what I came for. I just wanted to meet you." Finding his goggles, Bam hurriedly slipped them on, and he turned at last to see his long-time crush admiring him. How long had he he wanted Ville to look at him like that? Only ages, and now that the rocker seemed to want to eat him up he wasn't even himself. It made him want to scream.
"I'm not going to give you my num- what?" Suddenly Ville's look had changed to one of befuddlement.
"Vi- uh- guy, are you okay? What's up?" Ville gave him a once over, surveying him. As he came closer his brow furrowed and his green eyes darkened.
"Take that thing off."
"What? Who the fuck-" Ville got to within an inch of Bam's face.
"Take off the fucking leather, all of it." Taken aback, Bam reached for his boot laces. "No, the goggles first."
As he reached for them he mumbled "Look, I don't know what-" but he stopped. There wasn't any argument he could make. Plain as day on his right hand, his "BOOK" marked him, destroying his disguise. In his rush he'd forgotten to cover it, since he'd been using it to plaster the rest of his body. Sighing, he finished pulling off his goggles. He undid the buttons on his mask, drawing off his headgear in one piece. The cool air after all that time pent up would have been a relief if he wasn't blushing so hard.
"Bam?" Ville was speechless, his eyes uneasy. "What the Hell is this?"
"Exactly what it looks like, Zille Zalo." quipped the younger man. He threw his stuff on the vanity. "Trying to impress you as always." His shoulders slumped, but he refused to find the nearest couch and collapse. Better, he figured, to get it over and done with now.
"In A-" Bam held up his hand.
"I called Seppo to ask when your next day off. Then I told Mige you al should swing by here, that the whole band would have fun."
"Of all places... a fetish club in A-"
"Yeah, yeah, but, what the fuck? Go big or go home; that's my motto, and it always will be." His knees were starting to shake, and so was his self-control. If Ville didn't leave soon he was going to embarrass himself further by becoming a sobbing mess at his feet. An infinite pause stretched on. The glow from the "Diva" mirrors, as Bam called them, cast the debauched space in a glamorous light. Ville's skin glowed and his light tan looked healthy in spite of how clammy he felt. A heap pf red sequined cloth dumped in a corner shimmered brilliantly, as if it were going t leap into flame any moment. Maybe if he rubbed it it would take him home.
"I didn't know you could dance." Bam couldn't have been caught more off guard in his life. Not a "We can't be friends if you're going to stalk me." or a "Yeah, I can't deal with this bullshit." Just a simple fact: Ville hadn't known ha could dance, and now he did.
"Maybe I could teach you." What the Hell? Might as well play all the cards, even the risky ones.
"I think we could arrange that. I've been thinking about classes for a while." Ville drew Bam into a hug. Bam's skin tickled where the Finn's rough denim touched him. "To think I'd never have known..." Ville pushed Bam's curls out of his eyes.
"I didn't think it would work. I didn't think you wanted me." Ville kissed him, his hands neatly cradling Bam's skull, not giving him an inch of give until he was done.
"Bam, you have no fucking clue what you do- what you've done, for so long. Fuck, and with that ass in leather." He cupped the man's right cheek. "I almost want you to put them back on." Bam knocked Ville's beanie off, tearing his jacket and leading him to a ripped Victorian love seat.
"Hell no, you don't know what it takes to get those fuckers on." Ville tossed away his shirt, leaning up to kiss him again. Their tongues battled for supremacy as they finished disrobing.
"Fine," said Ville when they broke for air, "just put the hat back on." Bam reached for his discarded gear, but Ville grabbed his wrist.
"No, only the hat. I want to see you."