Because I Don't Know What's Good For Me
Title: Because I Don't Know What's Good For Me
Genre: Cultverse
Pairing: Tuomas Holopainen/Ville Valo
Summary: Tuomas really needs someone to talk to. Connected to Ever Dream Of Me?.
Word Count: 595
Warnings: By cultverse standards? Pretty much nothing. References to possible non-con. And slash. Duh.
They were really, really drunk. Later, Tuomas would look back and feel vaguely awkward, knowing what he knew now - what everyone knew - that Ville took himself off to rehab just months later. But he didn’t regret it, not really. Even if it was selfish.
He just needed to talk to someone who had some fucking inkling of what it was like.
Knowing what it was like was probably why Ville needed rehab in the first place, come to think of it.
They met at a bar, some shitty bar in Helsinki where people weren’t likely to recognize them. They didn’t actually say much at first, but it was a comfort to be with someone else who was always holding back, the same way Tuomas was. Someone who was always looking out of the corner of his eye because this person or that looked like easy prey.
By this point Nightwish hadn’t played a show in over a year. Tuomas hadn’t felt the adoring screams of a thousand followers shake his bones in over a year. It had become a kind of constant itch, always infuriatingly out of reach. Sometimes he got so desperate he frightened himself. Sometimes he’d been unable to stop himself going out when things got like that.
The last time, somebody got hurt and it sure as fuck wasn’t Tuomas, no matter how much he wished it had been.
“Ville,” he said. “Ville what can I do?”
Ville dragged deeply on his cigarette. “What do you mean?”
“I mean” - he felt embarrassingly like crying, but he kept it together - “people aren’t safe around me anymore. And Anette -“
Ville looked up sharply. “You have told her?”
Tuomas looked away.
Ville sighed, like he’d have been angry if he could be bothered. “That, apart from being monumentally unfair, is a fucking liability, Tuomas. You know that. Fucking Christ, haven’t you learned anything from -“
“Don’t.” Tuomas barely heard himself say it. He was also quite surprised, in the part of his mind that was still untouched, after all this time, to find himself on his feet, fist drawn back. Fuck. He took a deep breath, forcing his muscles to relax.
Ville was watching intently. “I didn’t realize you still…” Ville made a vague hand gesture that was clearly supposed to mean “loved her obsessively”.
Tuomas wished he was like Ville. Wished he could be his own voice. Wished he hadn’t had to trick Anette, wished he hadn’t lied to everyone he knew. He didn’t realize there were tears rolling down his face until Ville reached out a surprisingly gentle hand to wipe them away.
The hand lingered for longer than necessary.
Tuomas looked up. Ville’s eyes were green, and they told Tuomas exactly what was being offered. And suddenly Tuomas wanted. He knew it happened a lot, with people like them. Frustrations built. Sometimes the only thing that could help was fucking, with someone who couldn’t be converted. He’d met bands at festivals, sought them out, because he could feel them. He’d seen for himself the intimate touches, the bruises not quite hidden under shirt collars. He’d thought he was different. He was straight for one thing.
But.
But Ville was beautiful and Ville was willing, and if it was going to be anyone…
Silent agreement. They left the bar, walking fast, stopping in alleyways for kisses that would leave bruises. Ville’s mouth on Tuomas’ was dizzying, and the only other thing Tuomas could think about was the marks he was going to leave on Ville’s snow-white skin.
Everything else could wait. .
Genre: Cultverse
Pairing: Tuomas Holopainen/Ville Valo
Summary: Tuomas really needs someone to talk to. Connected to Ever Dream Of Me?.
Word Count: 595
Warnings: By cultverse standards? Pretty much nothing. References to possible non-con. And slash. Duh.
They were really, really drunk. Later, Tuomas would look back and feel vaguely awkward, knowing what he knew now - what everyone knew - that Ville took himself off to rehab just months later. But he didn’t regret it, not really. Even if it was selfish.
He just needed to talk to someone who had some fucking inkling of what it was like.
Knowing what it was like was probably why Ville needed rehab in the first place, come to think of it.
They met at a bar, some shitty bar in Helsinki where people weren’t likely to recognize them. They didn’t actually say much at first, but it was a comfort to be with someone else who was always holding back, the same way Tuomas was. Someone who was always looking out of the corner of his eye because this person or that looked like easy prey.
By this point Nightwish hadn’t played a show in over a year. Tuomas hadn’t felt the adoring screams of a thousand followers shake his bones in over a year. It had become a kind of constant itch, always infuriatingly out of reach. Sometimes he got so desperate he frightened himself. Sometimes he’d been unable to stop himself going out when things got like that.
The last time, somebody got hurt and it sure as fuck wasn’t Tuomas, no matter how much he wished it had been.
“Ville,” he said. “Ville what can I do?”
Ville dragged deeply on his cigarette. “What do you mean?”
“I mean” - he felt embarrassingly like crying, but he kept it together - “people aren’t safe around me anymore. And Anette -“
Ville looked up sharply. “You have told her?”
Tuomas looked away.
Ville sighed, like he’d have been angry if he could be bothered. “That, apart from being monumentally unfair, is a fucking liability, Tuomas. You know that. Fucking Christ, haven’t you learned anything from -“
“Don’t.” Tuomas barely heard himself say it. He was also quite surprised, in the part of his mind that was still untouched, after all this time, to find himself on his feet, fist drawn back. Fuck. He took a deep breath, forcing his muscles to relax.
Ville was watching intently. “I didn’t realize you still…” Ville made a vague hand gesture that was clearly supposed to mean “loved her obsessively”.
Tuomas wished he was like Ville. Wished he could be his own voice. Wished he hadn’t had to trick Anette, wished he hadn’t lied to everyone he knew. He didn’t realize there were tears rolling down his face until Ville reached out a surprisingly gentle hand to wipe them away.
The hand lingered for longer than necessary.
Tuomas looked up. Ville’s eyes were green, and they told Tuomas exactly what was being offered. And suddenly Tuomas wanted. He knew it happened a lot, with people like them. Frustrations built. Sometimes the only thing that could help was fucking, with someone who couldn’t be converted. He’d met bands at festivals, sought them out, because he could feel them. He’d seen for himself the intimate touches, the bruises not quite hidden under shirt collars. He’d thought he was different. He was straight for one thing.
But.
But Ville was beautiful and Ville was willing, and if it was going to be anyone…
Silent agreement. They left the bar, walking fast, stopping in alleyways for kisses that would leave bruises. Ville’s mouth on Tuomas’ was dizzying, and the only other thing Tuomas could think about was the marks he was going to leave on Ville’s snow-white skin.
Everything else could wait. .