Snow Angel
Title: Snow Angel
Author:
randomlove192
Pairing: Vam
Rating: PG
Summary: Lying in the snow, late at night, Bam reflects on his relationship with Ville.
Disclaimer: This writing is complete fiction. I have never met Bam Margera or Ville Valo. None of what is written in this piece is to be taken as fact or truth.
Author's Note: So, as I was sitting back thinking about a very special friendship of mine, I was trying to figure out how to put into words exactly the depth of this friendship. I thought, 'what better way to see if I can explain it than write it down?' Well, I was going to write it, but who could I get to read it? You lovely people of course. Except, I had to modify it to Vam, not that I'm complaining. Anyways, just let me know what you got out of this and how you see the nature of their relationship in this particular piece. =)
The cool night air bit at my cheeks as we walked through the still darkness. A fresh blanket of sparkling white snow coated everything in several cushioned inches. He was slightly buzzed, not quite pissed but definitely had a nice, fuzzy, alcohol-induced coating around his brain. We kicked up snow as we walked, creating a flurry of ice crystal about us as we walked, our only light the pale moon. It was a beautiful night.
I looked up from the white ground to see Ville darting across the open lawn and flopping down on his back with a small oompf. I smiled. He was so child-like when he was drunk, even more so than me when I’m sober, which is saying something. Walking over, I quirked an eyebrow and stared down at him as he lay spread eagle in the snow.
“Come on BamBam! Let’s make snow angels!” he beckoned me with a hand. With a smirk, I plopped down on top of him, straddling his thin hips and pinning his arms into the snow. He struggled, letting out pathetic grunts of effort as he did so. I didn’t let go.
“Bammieeeee! This isn’t nice!” he complained.
“What’s your point?” I asked, smirk still in place. Ville looked thoughtful, like he was honest to God trying to think of his point. Really, just because it wasn’t nice didn’t mean I wouldn’t do it. Hell, I did a lot of things for the sheer purpose that they weren’t nice. Ville, even in his drunken state, knew that well.
He knew me well, too. Ever since that first night after the concert when we just clicked, he’s known everything about me. I tell him everything, and he always listens, and vice versa. We’re always there for each other, providing a shoulder to cry on when the rock star and millionaire lifestyle just isn’t what it’s all cracked up to be, or when a girl took our heart and put it through a paper shredder. We’re always there.
I know, everyone thinks we’re something more. But that’s just what society does, placing stigmas on two men who happen to be closer than they are to their girlfriend, and well for me, spouse. Sure, I love Missy, I always have and always will. She’s a great friend, and helps calm things down around the house. She gets along with the guys great, and lets me know I will never be alone. That’s the great thing about her. That’s why I love her. That’s why I married her.
But Ville, he’s something more. When things are beyond words I just have to look at him once and he knows. He just…knows. Everything, anything, I ask him and he knows. He’s always there to look out for me, to help me, to understand me and guide me. He’s a big brother, a father, a friend, a soul mate. Yeah, that’s what we are. We’re soul mates. Not lovers, not boyfriends, no I could never do that with him.
I’m straight, I always have been. Ville…well I have my doubts about him sometimes, but we both know there’s nothing remotely sexual between us. We’re fine with that; we don’t want anything more than that. He and I love and care for each other on a level that’s beyond understanding for someone who hasn’t experienced it. There is no word in the English language, hell in any language, that can describe what we have. It’s pure, simple, and raw connection.
It’s like our bodies don’t even stand between us anymore. If I’m anxious before a skate competition it’s like he knows exactly what to say and how to place a hand on my shoulder and make that anxiety drop like a ton of bricks. And sometimes I’ll have an anxious tug that isn’t in my stomach or heart, but from somewhere deep inside me that something is wrong. I’ll go check the calendar, and sure enough Ville will be playing a sold out show in Helsinki, London, or LA.
Things like that let me know that we’re more than friends. He means more to me than anything on this Earth. Sometimes I have to wonder why he even puts up with me, and loves me as much as he does. It’s like he is so above me, above everyone. The way that poised body moves gracefully and catlike across the stage that he completely owns, that deep baritone voice that can entrance even the most wary of listeners and seduce even the coldest of women. His sparkling green eyes that can laugh, dance, cry, whisper, deceive, and murder. The man’s beauty is beyond compare to anyone, almost celestial, a star among rocks, an angel among men.
Yes, that’s what he is. He’s an angel. An angel of music, compassion, humor, and of course alcohol. He can be an angel of rage, vengeance, and mischief. But always, no matter what he does, how he acts, with whom he spends time, he is always an angel. He is my angel, my Finnish angel of music.
“My point is that it’s not nice and you’d never do something that isn’t nice to me.” I didn’t realize it, but I’d been staring at him this entire time absolutely lost in that porcelain skin and those peridot orbs. I smile and give a small snort of laughter. How right he is. I release my grip on his wrists which he immediately drapes around my waist. Leaning down, I wrap my arms around his square shoulders and rest my cheek on his chest.
“You’re right, I could never hurt you,” I commented quietly. “You’re my angel,” I added in something barely above a whisper. He heard it, of course. But, I don’t think I would have even had to speak it aloud for him to hear it.
“Snow angel,” he crooned in a sing song voice, letting go of my waist and dragging his limbs rhythmically through the snow once again. That was the only sound in the cold, empty night now, the rustling and scraping of his jacket against the icy snow.
“Yes, my snow angel,” I murmur into the crisp air.
As I said above, just looking for feedback on how you interpreted the relationship in this.