[FIC] Words and Cigarettes
Title: Words and Cigarettes
Author: RiaStarStruck (Me!)
Pairing: Vam
Rating: R -just to be safe
Summary: “I first met Ville Valo when he was on the streets doing what he does best: weaving words into magic which transported me to other galaxies...” a story of their love.
Disclaimer: This is a witty line about me not owning anything, please done sue
Warnings: AU, Angst, Alcohol abuse, Death, Unbetered
Authors Notes: This is an Au and a kinda ambiguous story, it hit me across the face like a brick glove the other day and I just had to do write it. Its also written entirely in first person, which I NEVER do because I’m not good at it, Bam's voice is kinda off, but then again so is the story. Please read and comment :D
I’m currently working on a larger, chaptered story and I felt I should post something, and stay in the vam groove! Hope you like
I first met Ville Valo when he was on the streets doing what he does best: weaving words into magic which transported me to other galaxies, fantasy worlds of beauty and violence and hate and love soaked in the sweat blood and tears of a thousand broken hearted poets. His matted, greasy hair and rumpled clothes couldn’t hide his elegance or poise, and his body folded in on itself, long limbs pulled close trying in vain to remove themselves from necessary space and making his delicate frame seem fragile and half broken.
He laughed without sound, eyes sparkling and teasing, brilliant green flashing with a wicked amusement which made me blush. His moves were graceful, slow and purposeful and I would trail them with my eyes, the rise of the thin white cigarette to his waiting mouth, the quick flick of his wrist as he pushed his hair from his face -a lazy half motion allowing the wind to complete his task as though he possessed power over the elements as he did my body and mind.
He would hold himself in frozen seconds, a hip cocked, a hand raised with a cigarette perched between his long fingers, the smoke curling up around him and his head bowed to look me in the eyes as he spoke, voice like dragons breath before him and eyes steady and clear as he breathed words that took me away, a delicate phrase, a wickedly suggestive play on words, a cloud of heartache and despair which closed around us like a womb.
I drowned in him, swallowed whole by the endless watery depth he pulled me into and I went willingly. His body close to mine and I clawed at the inside of my mind as I struggled to realise why I wanted his touch more than air and water, his breath against my ear in the darkened streets as I closed my eyes and he painted worlds against my eyelids, where we drowned together in velvet drapes and blood stained tousled sheets.
Was it madness, I wonder? Was it fear and loneliness I didn’t allow myself to feel? Was it pity? Pity for the poor poet on the streets? No. It wasn’t pity that drove me half mad with obsession; it wasn’t pity that clawed at my heart whenever he shook his hair from his eyes and smiled with the gentlest curve of lips.
Perhaps it was love.
The others never asked how we knew each other, never questioned Ville's pause before entering or his bafflement at their behaviour. “Decadence.” He whispered later, amusement and disgust intertwined. “Like savages feasting on a corpse. Take what you want, devour it and barely pause to savour the ill gotten treat on your tongue.” and even as he spoke in smoky whispers in my ear his hands claimed my flesh as they trailed like fire across my body.
The others never questioned why we wandered the streets at night, left the bar and wandered into the night where Ville would gaze up at the sky and I would watch as his face reflected the glow of the stars and moon as though they shone for him alone.
Sometimes he would look at me as though seeing me for the first time; and it was as though he was wondering why I was there, why I watched him so closely and why my body quivered as he spoke. Other times he would look at me as though he saw my every folly and mistake and he desired me all the more for it.
I would watch as girls simpered and swooned, pressing their supple bodies close to his and flicking their hair as they laughed grating mindless laughs, taking his cruel comments as jokes while I smothered my own victorious smile as he called them terrible things played games with his words to tell them how he felt. Our eyes would meet and the flash of wicked fire would burn across his face as though we shared a most tantalising secret.
“You shouldn’t smoke so much, it’ll kill you.” Another mindless girl who hung off his arm and didn’t listen to a word he said, another who fooled herself into thinking her own brilliance, her own intelligence was on par or above the quiet poet she pursued.
“Smoking will kill you, but only love will break your heart.” She swooned and giggled but I watched as his eyes sought my own and lingered. In a half crazed desperation I searched for a meaning, a purpose to the pointed, teasing answer. I spent a lot of my time searching his words for his real meaning. Sometimes I thought I found them, other times the answer stayed just out of reach, a mirage in the desert.
“Faster go faster...” The first time I said those words to Ville we were running down an empty road late into the darkness of night, my voice was breathy and strangled by the laughter I was trying to suppress, the rhythmic sound of our feet slapping against the pavement rang in my ears and Ville laughed joyously as the distance between us and our pursuers grew wider.
I said it again not long after, as my body heaved and shuddered; my voice was breathy again but this time not with laughter as his hands held tight to my waist as I pushed up and down in an agonising rhythm that drove me mad. His face was flushed and alive, eyes wide and glittering as he stared up at me hands pulling me closer and slipping over my skin.
His hair was wet with sweat and it curled against his skin in dark ringlets that I wanted to trace with my fingers and tongue, he tossed his head in frustration and his words, the words I loved and craved like an addict craved drugs disappeared as he surrendered to primal grunts and needy keening sounds which I adored with equal vigour.
He pulled our bodies close and my nails dug deep into his pale flesh, later I would find blood under my fingernails and taste it on my tongue. He bit hard on my shoulder, a muffled scream I longed to hear as we climaxed as one. We collapsed like broken dolls onto the rumpled sheets and I saw Poe weep bloody tears along his back and smiled.
He spoke to me of love and suicide, said the stranger in the store with the sad eyes and flimsy smile would lay limp and cold, blood stained and heartbreaking from the slashes of his wrists. Even as he said it I knew the character he painted wasn’t the lonely man in the crowded store, but himself, a hundred years or a hundred seconds from now.
His emotions were like quicksilver, a flash of blinding smiling brilliance and then the cloying shadowed darkness that clung to him like a disease. I held him as he wept, as he screamed and clawed and hit things, and his hands would trail my features with the innocence of a child before he kissed his thanks like a dying man claims his final meal. Slow, tortuous and heartbreaking for the care he takes with each mouthful, each cut of the knife.
And sure enough his prophecy came true, but instead of slashing his wrists he drank himself to death. Grand immediate gestures could only be done in Ville's songs and poems.
As in life, his words remained unknown, piled high in boxes I stored in the corner of my closet. A million words that made my breath quicken and warmed me like molten lava. I only allowed myself to read them once a year, and then I let myself drown in his sorrow, a bottle of poisonous booze at my side and tear tracks down my face.
The boxes became old, musty and fragile. The papers stained with ink and tears, the last remaining evidence of the words I so adored.
Euphoria
Ambrosia
Decadence
Love
Sin
A thousand words that set my soul on fire then and now, his whispered words an echo in my ears which reminded me of that thin tattooed body, of the gentle waving brown hair and the lips as red as the devils fruit that trailed along my body and marked me with a million invisible brands.
When my girlfriend-cum-fiancée-cum-wife moved in she moved the boxes to the attic on a shadowed afternoon when I was out.
I wept for an hour, screamed for an hour more, and closed myself in the dark attic where I read each word I’d memorised and felt his phantom hands across my body like all those years before.
Missy never asked, but the boxes returned and she would watch as my fingers trailed along them each morning, as though caressing a lover.
The first time I saw Ville Valo, he stole my soul, my heart and my breath. I wonder sometimes if I will ever get them back.
A/N Please comment, comments are love and I need love