[FIC] shuffle fics

[riastarstruck]

Title: 5 Shuffle Song Fics

Author: Me (RiaStarStruck)

Pairing: Vam

Rating: hmm.... give it an R to be safe

Summary: five separate stories inspired by five separate songs that came up on shuffle.

Warnings: um, some dark themes, prostitution, mild violence? A bit of kinkyness? And um... they’re kinda sad...
Disclaimer: sadly, i don’t own any of the characters, the songs, or anything that you recognize as distinctly not owned by me. I just own the ideas and the order the words are put in

Authors Notes: so i decided to try my hand at a shuffle challenge, got me inspired! And i had a lot of fun while doing it. This actually started when i was walking home the other day, plugged in my iPod, and BANG! Story his me. I walked home pretty much in a daze, my head firmly in Vam-land.
please read and tell me what you think!





1. Centrefolds - Placebo

He stood alone in the middle of the hallway, his arm holding his naked torso as though to hold the pieces of his heart together, he stood staring at the plain door, gnawing on his thumbnail absently as he stared unblinkingly. He rocked imperceptibly and the late night light glittered like bruises across his exposed flesh. The shadows exaggerated his figure and he looked thin and broken, like Novak had at the height of his addiction. Like Ville had started looking when he was too busy drowning in hopes of forgetting to remember to look after himself.
His skin was goosepimpled, cold and shivering but he didn’t notice the chill of the winter night settling in his bones. He didn’t notice as time passed; all he knew was Ville lay on the other side of that door, thin tattooed body stretched out across the borrowed sheets, silky brown locks across the pillow, smell of cigarette smoke and that other, undefinable scent which burned the back of Bam’s throat, strangely like thirst.

The shadow of cold along his overheated flesh reminded him of the nights he would spend in Finland years ago when their friendship was fresh, their innocence blinded them and their possibilities stretched out in front of them, they could be whatever they wanted, they could do whatever they wanted, they could be together because that is what they wanted. Ignorance was bliss.
He remembered slow dancing in a circle in the closed off courtyard of some friends place, the pre dawn sky a curious mix of darkness and promised light, it seemed like the world was holding its breath as Ville pulled him close, his tall body wrapping around him encasing him in his arms as they moved slowly, rocking together to some song that neither of them could hear. It seemed like one of those moments that only existed in novels, too perfect, too still, too beautiful.
He remembered rumpled white bed sheets of another nameless hotel, the balcony doors opened up to a Viennese summer, warm golden light dancing across their skin as they touched idly, slow languid touches that were feather light across tattooed flesh. If Bam was going to film it, it would be done in all extreme close ups and intimate lights. But a movie cant capture the stale breath they shared as they kissed, the warmth of Ville’s flesh against his own heat, the way time seemed to have stood still, each touch dragged on for hours instead of seconds or the laughter that rang around the room and Ville’s deep voice like velvet across Bam’s skin.
A hundred thousand kisses, a million and one caresses, innumerable moments lost gazing into the others eyes. They were so young, so in love and so terrible, horribly naive. 
He remembered kissing in the rain and the two of them laughing at how horribly cliché it was as Ville pushed wet curls out of Bam’s eyes. He remembered the hundreds of nameless hotel rooms where they quenched their thirsts for each other, rough, tender, quick, dirty, slow, endless.

The door in front of him opened. Ville, shirtless and sleep ruffled entered the hallway. Bam wanted to weep at his effortless beauty, the warmth he felt radiating off him, and the knowledge that he would smell like he always had, warm and safe and familiar. They stood for a moment in the darkness of the hallway, Bam clutching himself as though he could hold himself together and Ville clinging to the doorway as though he didn’t trust himself not to reach out to his once lover.
A chocked sob tore through the night and it was only when Ville reach towards him did Bam realise it had come from him. Ville’s pale, slender hands cupped his face with the tenderness of experience and brushed away the tears that wet the skaters’ cheeks. They stood like that, frozen in time in an imitation of a lovers embrace.
“Go to bed Bam.” There was a time Bam would curl up next to Ville, safe in his arms without a moment’s hesitation. But as they looked at each other they saw the million reasons why they couldn’t, the million reasons that kept them apart, kept them playing this ridiculous game of ‘just friends’. As Ville turned back into his room bowing his head in agony as another choked sob escaped Bam unwittingly, Bam turned to leave, walking down the hall towards the bedroom he shared with his beautiful wife. He curled up under the fluffy white doona and lay on the edge of the bed watching out the window as the night passed into morning and another day out of the thousand where he couldn’t be with the one he loved was born.

2. Eyes on Fire - Blue foundation

He stood at the window, hair tangled around him as he looked out into the foreign city. It was industrial, all tall buildings and grey skies. The room was clinical, clean white and practical furniture. Leaning against the cold window frame cigarette at his fingertips and head leaned to rest on the wall beside him he was the perfect image of the tortured poet.
If there was a camera present he would smile and flirt, perhaps blowing a kiss absently as he chatted away, instead he let his body slump awkwardly as his tired eyes surveyed the gray sky outside. Somewhere far below people called in a language he didn’t understand, amongst the buildings he didn’t know, caring about things he couldn’t find it in him to care about.
His phone was off, had been for days now. It sat innocuously on the small table against the wall, his wallet and room key sat beside it painting an image of the most pathetically unremarkable. 
He didn’t move when he heard the knock on the door, his curls fell in his eyes as he pretended he didn’t hear it, instead watched as a woman with a pram attempted to cross the busy main road down below.
The knock came again.
He’d been missing for over a week now. He’d left right after their last show when his friends were still coming down from the thrill and adrenaline of the stage, sneaking away through the back door even as the crowd screamed for more. He’d been through two countries and a dozen hotels, each as bland and unremarkable as the previous. The emptiness of each room echoed in the hollowness of his eyes, a dull lifeless shade of green, shadowed by his pale complexion and listless body.
The knock again, followed this time by a muffled curse.
He was unshaved and unwashed, his hair was greasy, falling in rumpled curls around his face and his fingers of his free hand tapped without rhythm against the window sill. His body shivered though he didn’t realise the room was cold, pushing his head harder against the wall beside him he closed his eyes and felt the heavy weight in his chest push up towards his throat choking him. Stubbing out his cigarette butt he was already reaching for another when the knock came again, more insistent now. The lighter was pulled from his pants pocket with it a cascade of scraps of paper, falling like confetti to the floor. He felt bile ride in his throat as he imagined confetti falling in the beaming faces of Mr and Mrs Margera. The papers danced across the floor like snow, the crisp whiteness tainted by the spidery black writing which covered them, for days now he’d written his heartache on any piece of paper he could find, words that would later form songs. His bleeding heart spread out on crumpled scraps of paper for anyone to read.
The knock came again, followed by a louder curse and what sounded like a fist hitting a wall.
Whoever it was left then and Ville returned to the silence of his room. The light from the overcast evening sky shone silver into the room and he watched without interest as two teenagers on bikes attempted stunts on a flight of stairs further down the street. He only moved when he heard the door of the room open, and even then he only turned his head, casting his eyes across to the frayed looking man in his door way.

A beat of silence where nobody moved, then the room was full of movement, the closing of a door, the rushed actions of the shorter man, hands through messy curls repeatedly as he moved quickly around the room. Ville didn’t move, instead kept his slow steady breaths going and concentrated on the wall behind him pressing into his shoulders and the back of his skull.
The other man picked up Ville’s phone, turning it on and then quickly off again when it beeped repeatedly with loud piercing beeps to announce the hundred messages and missed calls. “Where the hell have you been Ville? We’ve been looking everywhere for you.” Can’t have looked everywhere or you would have found me. He stared silently through glazed eyes at the hurriedly moving figure. “Ville, what the hell?” The figure collapsed on the unused bed like a puppet with its strings cut, all movement abruptly halted, his shoulders slumped and his wide blue eyes staring at him across the small space that separated them, as far away as the room would let them be. Bam looked pathetic with his ruffled hair and wrinkled clothes, a couple of days stubble on his face and eyes red rimmed and blurry looking.
When Ville spoke his voice was hoarser than usual, rough and loud in the silence of the room. “Hello Bam.” He sounded tired and bored, disinterested in the proceedings and this seemed to infuriate the younger man.
“Hello?! That’s it? I’ve been searching for you for almost two weeks, I’ve fucking travelled the length of Europe to find you and all you can say is ‘hello’?” a note of hysteria crept in to his voice towards the end; his hands ran again through his hair making it stand up at odd angles.
“Fine, how’s the wife?” Ville snapped, his eyes blazing for a moment before returning to the dull green they had become. He felt a thrill run through his broken body as Bam flinched on the bed. Ville turned to face away and looked out the window again, noting absently that the two teens on bikes had left and the streets were emptying as the sky darkened.
Calloused fingers pulled his face away from the view and made him face his companion, the silvery evening light made Bam’s eyes the strangest shade of blue, one he’d never seen before; and his skin seemed paler, almost seeming to glow in the slowly darkening room.

They stood like that for what felt like hours, faces inches away from each other sharing breaths and searching for some unknown thing in the other’s eyes. Finally Bam spoke, his voice rougher then before and his eyes so sad it tore Ville’s already broken heart to pieces.
“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” And as the silver evening sky turned to the blue neon of the sign somewhere outside, they moved like figures in water across the room to lay untouching on the hard hotel bed.
Come morning they would make their way again into the real world, Ville to the world he’d left behind so many days ago, and Bam to his new world as a married man. They didn’t speak, they didn’t touch, they didn’t sleep; too preoccupied with memorising every line and contour they already knew by heart in the shadowed empty hotel room.

3. On the Bus Mall - The Decemberists

Laying across the opulent silk bed he stared through lowered lashes at the camera that hovered above him, he pouted and felt his eyelashes weighted down by the makeup his eyes were caked in. He ran a hand lazily down his torso to rest on his tattooed abdomen, he heard the camera click a half dozen times and he smiled lazily. He tried not to think about the first hundred times he was in this position, ignored like he always did, the memories that haunted his every movement.

He lay across the cheap hotel bed, his thin body tense and poised, he pouted prettily and lowered his lashes for the large man that stood at the foot of the bed. He trailed a hand down his frail torso, continuing south to cup himself and smile at the faceless man before him, slowly, so slowly he lowered the zip. *They like to be teased.* a voice whispered in his ear, *It’s what they pay for.*

He stood against the grimy wall, designed meticulously to appear accidental and rough, he trailed his hands over his naked abdomen and smirked at the camera. The interviewer chattered away and the cameraman grunted and directed while Ville ignored the adoring looks on the faces of a few of the people present. He moved with an efficientness and ease that seemed natural, though to him it was a practiced dance.

A thin figure huddled beside him in the cold night; they shared a cigarette and talked distractedly. The night was fading, the roads were empty and Ville found himself thinking of lyrics for the loneliness. The figure beside him laughed, nudging him with a thin shoulder and leaned into his warmth. Ville smiled and ran his face through the messy curls of his companion. A hand slipped into his and they huddled close, hands clasped and said nothing.
Later that night, Ville would gasp and murmur a sad “Bam...” when they were alone in the cheap motel room and he discovered the ugly bruises that covered his companions’ torso. In turn, Ville would allow tentative hands to trace his own bruised thighs and they kissed clumsily and wetly in the motel bed, the outside world and garish sunlight blocked out by the flimsy curtains, casting a warm golden light around the dirty room.

The camera clicked loudly in the crowded hotel room, poised in front of the window, legs encased in tight charcoal leather and torso stretched thin and naked, hands rested behind him on the darkened window he pouted around his cigarette and thrust his hips forward, smirking like he was thinking of you naked, screaming for him.
He felt bile rise as he trailed a lazy hand past his nipple and the camera clicked a dozen more times. His hair was loose, flowing around him and sweat covered his body from the bright lights and he imagined he could smell the sweet cloying scent of sex and dirty motel rooms, with a gasp he pushed away and into the bathroom without a word, slamming the door behind him he closed his eyes and leant back against the cold wood his pale thin body shaking.

Bam writhed and moaned in an imitation of pleasure under him, the grunts and groans of the Bald Fat Man on their left distracted them both, they didn’t want to look at each other even as Ville pushed in and out of Bam’s body in seamless rhythm. Their hands clasped, just out of sight, fingers clinging tightly together. Ville leant down and kissed an exposed collarbone and Bam shivered. Bald Fat Man grunted louder and then a loud groan filled the room. Ville reached between them to jerk Bam to an unfulfilling completion, a mockery of the passion they usually shared for one another. They lay entwined as Bald Fat Man tossed money at them and quickly made his way from the room ashamed and disgusted now his needs have been met.
They sat in silence, still naked, a soiled sheet lying across them as they allowed themselves a moment of rest. Ville listened with a breaking heart as Bam coughed wetly a few times; he wrapped the younger man in his arms and hummed quietly in his ear. “Out loud Willa, I want to hear your voice.” So he sang to fight off the tears he knew would come if he stopped.
Bam fell asleep listening to his deep soothing voice, singing about sex and death, two things they understood, the body in his arms shook with coughs occasionally and his breaths were coarse and painful sounding. Ville ignored their soiled bodies and the tears that filled his eyes.

The crowd before him moved like the ocean, screaming faceless figures with outstretched hands reaching for him. He blew kisses and danced, grinding against the mic stand as the lights shone down on him like he was some sort of god. He screamed his lyrics and held the mic close to his mouth. With closed eyes the electricity of the crowd was like needles across his skin. He smiled and laughed, moving across the stage with predatory grace flirting with and teasing his fans. He didn’t think of anything, no dirty motel rooms, no cold piss smelling back lanes, no broken wet coughs that ripped the night apart; Just the warmth of the lights, the electric blue eyes that watched him always and the feeling of excitement in the pit of his stomach.
He felt free, like he was dying and being born all at the same time. He had found a heaven he never thought he deserved, the bliss rivalled only by the lazy Sundays spent in a cheap motel bed with lazy kisses given for free and calloused hands that knew his body better than he did.

The cold sterility of the hospital emergency room was painful to witness, the smell of illness and disinfectant choked him as he held tight the clammy hand which weakly pulled him into the uncomfortable cot bed. He held the frail body tight to him as he sung softly in his ear. He remembered Sunday’s spend lounging in bed, a perfect replica of how they were now. He kissed a sweaty nape as he remembered the jubilant and energetic Bam jumping around the dirty room, and how they’d danced to the radio that played next door and shared clumsy free kisses in the warm sun.
The song broke off into a sob and he held the thin body closer to him. A cold hand held his and he almost missed the whisper that was swallowed up by the chaotic room.”You gotta get out of this life Willa, you gotta sing.” He nodded even as his tears stole his breath away.
Half an hour later the nurse pulled him away from the still figure, passing him a glass of bad tasting water and sitting him down in a closed off area as his sobs over took him and tore his chest to pieces.

Another flirting TV presenter asked him what his songs were about, he smiled and darted his eyes away like he always did, letting out a choked chuckle he muttered something about love. They leaned closer pushing their breasts towards him and asked him his inspiration. A teenage hustler he fell in love with a hundred years ago, a boy who was more energy than sense, the only person he’d ever loved and who had left him because of what they were, his first and biggest fan, *Bam*. He muttered some half arsed answer and ignored her disappointed look as he cracked a joke about his own pathetic-ness.  His mind however, travelled back to the darkened streets where he clasped his warm lover to his side and shared cigarettes to ward off the cold.

4. This Picture - Placebo

“You know, James Dean used to have his gay lovers extinguish cigarettes on his chest.” Silence met his statement, it’s not easy to silence Bam and his friends and he felt a thrill at accomplishing it. Bam sat tense beside him; it was like a bolt of electricity had shot through him, leaving him stock still at the startling and abrupt statement, his friends laughed and to turns in making jokes before returning to their previous activities.
Ville feigned nonchalance watching with lazy eyes whatever was on the screen in front of him as he slowly took another drag on his cigarette. He pretended he didn’t notice when Bam got up silently and left the room; Novak and Dico continued their made up card game and Dunn watched bored as the hero saved the damsel and Missy stared with confused eyes after her husband. Ville ground out his cigarette with more viciousness then was strictly necessary against the glass bottom of the ashtray.

Ville was sitting on the edge of the bed when he heard his door open. The night shadows darkened the room but the light from the single lamp Ville left on sitting alone on the bedside table cast a warm golden hue across everything. Ville ignored the disturbance and instead watched the smoke from his cigarette curl up around him, Bam stood in the doorway, his naked chest glowing in the half darkness of the room.
“You’re a cunt, you know that right?” Ville smiled and let the smoke curl from his lips like dragons breath.
“And what about you my Peter Pan? What are you?” Bam huffed, rolling his eyes and moved as though to leave, in the last second however he closed the door and moved further into the bedroom. They stayed like that for a moment, Ville poised on the edge of his borrowed bed and Bam tense and exposed in the centre of the small room.
“Is that how you see me? As your Peter Pan? Do you want to be my Wendy Ville?” his voice was poisonous, bitter and mocking. Bam moved slowly across the small space that separated them till he was standing directly before the sitting man, he trailed his fingers lightly through the soft brown waves and he felt Ville pale hands dance feather light across his hips.
“I don’t need a Peter Pan Bam, I’m not afraid to grow up.” In a fluid motion Bam found himself on his back across the rumpled bed, he let out a gasp as the older man leaned above him, cigarette hanging from his leering lips, hair falling down between them like a curtain against the outside world.
They lay in that position for what felt like hours, detached from the outside world of images and TV cameras, secluded in their bubble of tense silence, as strained and chafing as their friendship had become.
“Is that what you tell yourself so you can sleep at night? Your scared shitless of getting old, of becoming a washed up old rock star.” Bam fought with claws exposed, teeth bared and something that resembled startlingly hatred in his eyes. Moving slowly, Ville pulled the cigarette from his lips, holding it away from them, he leaned forward and whispered with feigned detachment against Bam’s collarbone watching as he spoke the smoke curl around the bronzed skin.
“I haven’t slept since I met you.” Brushing his lips against the skin beneath him, a shadow of contact, he continued speaking, seemingly calm and unaffected. “You can fight it all you want, bitch and moan however much you see fit but the truth is Bam, your nothing but a scared little faggot who’s wasting his life away playing the stupid child.” Bam dug his nails in to Ville’s back till he knew the skin would bruise deep purple and there would be crescent half moon marks across his shoulder blades for some time to come. Ville’s touch in contrast was feather light and a mockery of a lovers touch. ”When are you going to grow up Bam? Or are you going to be the old fat has-been that dies of a heart attack at fifty in some dirty motel room with an underage hustler?” Ville pulled back slightly, trailing his hand which held the cigarette across Bam’s tattooed torso, a gentle fluid caress from collarbone to the low waist band of his sweat pants. Bam watched with glazed eyes the decent of the glowing cigarette, sticking up like a broken finger from Ville’s hand flat against his skin. Ville leered, watching Bam’s wide eyes and parted lips.
“Fuck you Ville.” Bam’s voice shook and he hated himself for it. They played these twisted games with each other, destroying the innocence their touch used to be. There was a time where they would share slow tender kisses on hotel beds, gentle hands caressing each other exploring, but each time it became more bitter when each time the morning call came and Bam pretended it was the drink, always the drink. And now years later there was no tenderness left, just the bitter chill of resentment replacing the warmth of love.
Bam's chest heaved, his tongue flicking out repeatedly to wet his dry lips as Ville lazily traced his tattoos with the butt of the cigarette, he watched with sad eyes as Bam withered and cut off moans before they could escape from his mouth, as he made his progress across the naked and scarred torso. Bam's hands ran through Ville’s hair, across thin shoulders and down a lean back, his touch was tender, loving and he hated himself for the love that he felt burning in his chest alongside the hatred he felt for this man who could play him without effort, who knew him so entirely.
Ville found himself nuzzling Bam's sweaty neck, trailing his lips across his jaw line and whispering in Bam's waiting ear as the cigarette butt made its slow procession across the tattoo on his pelvis, the one that matched his own. “One day these scars will be on wrinkled skin, and then who will love you? The pretty Missy who spends your money as quickly as you make it, the adoring fans who laugh at your stupidity? Come on Peter Pan, whose going to love you then?” Bam turned his face and they were millimetres apart, his quivering lips touched Ville’s as he whispered.
 “You will. You always will.” Ville jerked back as though struck, staring down at the man below him, he turned the cigarette around in his fingers and pressed the burning embers to the pale skin next to the copied tattoo, right next to the spike of Bam's hipbone he pressed the small end to sweating flesh. And as he watched Bam arch up and away at the same time in an awkward curl of his spine and he cried out through his clenched teeth as he climaxed in his sweat pants Ville whispered to deaf ears.
“I know.”

5. Rehab -Riannah feat. Justin Timberlake

There was a bitter taste in his mouth, like stale cigarette smoke and morning breath. He wanted to lock himself in his room and hide from the world; instead he smiled with a too wide smile as the camera clicked in front of him. He threw himself across the small set, laughing with his friends and posing like a tosser, pretending to be arrogant and untouchable. Whatever the fuck I want, bullshit, he couldn’t even think of the last time he did something simply because he wanted to. His act was blatant and painful to anyone willing to look hard enough, he played the fool well, had perfected it over the years, but as he laughed and joked his friends felt sick at how hollow his eyes were, how joyless his laughter was as it echoed around them.

He shook hands with the photographer and declined a drink with the rest of them. Novak walked quietly at his side like a faithful shadow as they exited the building and headed to the car, he felt a flash of irrational hatred flare through him as Novak slid effortlessly into the passenger seat wordlessly. His hands were shaking and he kept fidgeting and tapping his fingers rhythmlessly against the steering wheel as he drove through the crowded streets.
“Uh dude, the turn off was back there...” Novak pointed out quietly, but didn’t pursue it when Bam shot him a seething look but didn’t say anything. The silence was getting too much, it was like he didn’t speak unless he had to now, gone were the pointless ramblings and overjoyed singing that used to fill his car trips and the absence unsettled Novak more then he cared to admit.

They drove for a couple more hours, the day slowly bleeding into night and the music on shuffle filtered through the cars’ interior. Novak sat tense in the passenger seat, watching avidly at the songs that came up, skipping what seemed like every third song wordlessly. Bam didn’t say a thing, and the hard grip he held on the wheel didn’t loosen nor did his fixed stare out of the windscreen falter. Eventually Novak settled on an old CKY album and let himself relax marginally. He felt himself starting to drift off as the night darkened around the car, Bam never relaxed his grip or broke his silence.

Some indistinguishable amount of time later Novak came to himself and realised three things in quick succession; firstly, he desperately needed to piss, like now, secondly, the car wasn’t moving and thirdly, the familiar tunes of Right Here in My Arms was playing quietly through the speakers.
Dread filled him, and he sat bolt upright turning to face the still seated Bam in the drivers’ seat. He hadn’t moved, he still sat, one hand clenched tightly around the steering wheel, the other in a tight fist on his lap. He stared straight ahead through the darkened windshield, but he wasn’t seeing anything. Nearly imperceptible shivers raked his body and his face was wet from tears. He was biting his lip and it looked like he was close to piecing the tender flesh.
Moving slowly, like he was told to around startled horses one time, he moved to turn the song off. A choking noise that sounded almost like a no startled him and he jerked his hand away as though burnt, they sat tensely together Novak praying desperately for the next song to start up and Bam’s mind a blur of hazy memories.
It was only when the song skipped to Join me in Death did Novak realise the iPod wasn’t on shuffle anymore, nor on the album he’d left it on, moving quickly he disconnected the device and sat it down gently in the coffee holder between them. Bam let out a shuddering breath and Novak couldn’t bring himself to look at him.
“Where are we?” Novak’s voice cracked in the heavy silence of the car.
“Not sure, Hell, I think.” The joke fell flat, weighted down by the honesty that shone through.
“Bam... ” he didn’t know what to say, he hadn’t known what to say three months ago either, when Bam had burst through the kitchen door at three in the morning a bloody crying mess, Novak shuddered remembering the following hour of trying to understand the hysterical muttering and trying to find where the blood had come from. He had never known scratches could bleed so much, self inflicted scratches that covered his chest, right about his heart, as though he’d tried to claw it out with his bare hands.
As Bam sobbed brokenly in the drivers’ seat Novak listened with a breaking heart to his lifelong friend and saviour choked on his own tears. The night stretched out around them in all directions, a deserted road far from anywhere and Novak thought how if a road would ever lead to hell, it would look like this one.

A/N Okay one, I was surprised when ‘Rehab’ came up on my shuffle, because I didn’t even know I had it on there, and two, I don’t think 5 or 2 really match or work with their songs, but meh, they’re what came out.
Had fun doing this, tell e what you think, because comments are love and we all need love.