Not gonna be...even close to complete...
Title: Until You're Mine
Author: slasher48 / bad_bad_books
Rating: R. Swearing and suggestiveness...
Pairing: Unrequited/ex-Vam (depending on your perception), ex-Bam/Missy, Bam/NotMissyTammy, some Brandon/Brandon.
Disclaimer: Fuck, I don't own, and right now, don't particularly want to -- Bam at least. As for if this is real...fuck I hope not. For Bam at least.
Summary: Until you're mine...I have to find... a way to fill this hole inside... (Prompt 056. Argument)
Warning(s): Some het, some anti-Missy, and a broken man.
Author's Notes: I wouldn've been able to write a single thing else until this was done. It tortured me. For months. I'm sorry for its hopelessness...but Bam seems like the personification of just that right now. :(
Oh, and you'll want this...and this, before you read.
Shaking his head, disgusted, Bam pushes himself away from the computer and tries to pretend he doesn’t still see the picture behind his closed eyelids. She’s haggard and bitchy and nasty, hell, he’s nasty for liking her, but he can’t stop himself.
She’s all he’s got left. She’ll hold him at night and let him fuck away his frustrations.
When he closes his eyes to sleep and the memories fuck up his brain, force sleep firmly away from his reach, she’ll drape herself over him and tease him until he’s got something to do in those waking hours, even something as useless as the empty fucks they have are.<
She’ll let him drink.
She’ll let him make out with Novak’s mingin’ ass.
She’ll let him…anything.
And he needs that. That anything, that anything to brush off flashes of interviews he’ll catch if he’s not quick enough to close his e-mail, to blow off texts he might get from the dude he knows hates the very idea of texting, to pretend a friendship that feels lifelong was just a shitty, too-gay phase in his life.
He needs somebody to let him fuck things up, because no matter how bad it gets, he can’t feel any worse than he did to begin with.
He needs somebody who’ll let him fuck them up even worse than he feels.
There’s got to be something he can do to fix how he hurts.
Until then, he tries everything, and she lets him.
***
There’s an apology on the airwaves of Los Angeles that means more to him than he wants it to, and less to the sorry fucker who made it.
They have the argument twice a year, if not more, when Bam gets visions and dares to tell somebody about them.
Usually it’s the subject of those visions, and that’s where the fighting comes in.
Because the fact is, there is a whiny bitch in their discussions, and even if Bam’s pretty damn sure it’s him, sometimes he gets thrown off by a moment he wasn’t expecting, a moment where it seems like there’s a little more tears in it than he was willing to give up himself.
He’s just glad he was out of the venue when the apologizer in question spoke those words.
Regardless of how much it hurt, he’s sure he would have made a total ass of himself forgiving.
***
“You chose well, Bam. Nobody’ll ever even guess you’re not actually into a woman so classless. The romantics will believe you’re in love, and the rest will stop caring enough to investigate.”
“Thanks, Miss…” He doesn’t mention how classy she was when she threw her heels in his face the day she found out about his desperate pining. How could he have helped it anyway? Sometimes even Bam Margera needs a reprieve from his mask, a day to mourn the hopelessness of the one thing he wants that money can’t buy.
The one thing he wants that nothing can get him.
“She’s certainly a woman, at least. I suppose that will help your image…”
“Damn…Missy, shut up. Please. Don’t talk about this.”
He can’t take it. Nobody was ever supposed to know. Nobody was ever supposed to suspect, even.
“…Alright, alright. I still say you should talk to him.”
“Ugh, fuck, Melissa! Seriously, you don’t get it.” He has.
“That apology sounded more than friendly, Brandon.”
He hates her for knowing him well enough to pick his brain, but more for not knowing enough to close her damn mouth on those stupid good intentions and let it be.
“…Just. You don’t know him like I do.”
When she talks - or protests, more like - he hangs up, on one of the only people who’s forgiven him for his terrible trespasses against her heart.
He’s not gonna put himself through the torture of explaining it all.
It’s not like he doesn’t have to remember daily anyway.
***
He’s got pictures. Loads and loads of pictures, pictures so misleading even he himself needs a slap of reality to know what’s really behind them.
There’s ones of hugging, there’s ones of kissing, there’s ones of caresses and laughs and shared cigarettes.
Contentment in all of them, because they were too young to care how they came off.
Then , at least.
Sometimes he throws them, the box of them, across the room, to watch them fly, float, drop with gravity back to the floor, rest there away from where he can be misled by them, too far for him to see their exact intricacies.
He does it because he can’t bring himself to do it at their subject.
But there are videos, too, and those…those he can’t throw.
They’re on his sites, they’re on his desktop, they’re in his fucking mind, and he can’t escape them.
He can close his eyes and remember them, feel them, so what’s the use in trying that anyway?
***
“Hey Bam? We’re doing a show in…”
“…I’m busy.”
“Fuck, I haven’t even said where or when yet.”
“I say I’m busy? Shit, I meant I don’t care.”
“Someday you…you know you’ll have to deal with it, sweetheart…”
“Stop fucking calling me that.”
“But-”
Click .
“Bam I’m sorry. I thought you got that in L.A…”
“Jesus H. Christ, Valo, can’t you get the hint?”
“Bam I can’t help how I…”
“Are we really gonna do this again? Isn’t the annual blowout enough for you?”
“…I miss you.”
“Yeah, well…I need more than that. Sorry you can’t handle it.”
“But Bam…”
“Go fuck a chick and write a ballad, Valo. Get ‘inspired’ and leave me the fuck alone.”
“Fuck, do we have to do this? Can’t we just-”
Click .
“She’s hotter than you, Vil…and tighter too. Way too fuckin’ tight…”
“Oh my fucking God, Bam, are you actually calling me while you’re…”
“Nnn…dunno why I even wanted your skinny ass…a-ah…”
“Jesus Bam you’re so drunk…and…and more miserable than I am.”
“’Bout time I won that contest for once…seeing as I have for years in my head…s-shit-t…”
“I’m sorry…fuck I’m so sorry but why do you have to be like this? We…we were…”
“We were lying, V-Valo…ngh…least I was…”
“I…I…Bam, I…”
“Ah shit…fuckin’ gonna…”
Click.
“…Ville?”
“…”
“Valo I know you’re there, you don’t tour for another week…”
“…”
“I-I just wanted to…say I’m sorry. She told me what I did and…fuck.”
“…”
“C-can’t you just…just please pick up?”
“…”
“Fucking hell I’m just…fuck I’m so sorry Ville…d-don’t let this... Just please don’t stop…”
“…”
“…I guess I’ll try you l-later… or you could, you could call. I’ll answer, I swear I will.”
“…”
“I won’t give you shit either, okay? That’s. That’s all I’m saying, alright bye.”
“…Bam?”
“…”
“Fuck.”
“We’re playing Finland…Pori. Soon, y’know…”
“…I might go. Been since what, March? Since I seen you guys play…”
“May, Bam…you were hiding, but I know you were at least one of the New York gigs.”
“…Whatever. You know what I meant.”
“So uh…I’ll see you then. I think you’ll actually get to see Mama, Daddy, and Jesse too...”
“Nice, man. Haven’t seen them in…Jesus. A really long fucking time.”
“I’ll leave you a backstage pass and put your name on the list, yeah?”
“Yeah. So uh…”
“Yeah. Em…bye.”
“…Ville?”
“…”
“…Just, ugh. I love you, okay?”
“…”
“…I know.”
“…”
“And I just wish…I don’t know what I wish. I just want us to be okay.”
“…”
Sigh.
Click.
***
It killed me to write this. Killed me to believe it might be true.
But I...well. I love the romanticism.
Let us believe that Bam is hitting bottom because he's brokenhearted.
The other reasons are too terrible to think about...
Have I lost you with this? Or was it refreshing?
Hate it, love it? Tell me! :)
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Author: slasher48 / bad_bad_books
Rating: R. Swearing and suggestiveness...
Pairing: Unrequited/ex-Vam (depending on your perception), ex-Bam/Missy, Bam/NotMissyTammy, some Brandon/Brandon.
Disclaimer: Fuck, I don't own, and right now, don't particularly want to -- Bam at least. As for if this is real...fuck I hope not. For Bam at least.
Summary: Until you're mine...I have to find... a way to fill this hole inside... (Prompt 056. Argument)
Warning(s): Some het, some anti-Missy, and a broken man.
Author's Notes: I wouldn've been able to write a single thing else until this was done. It tortured me. For months. I'm sorry for its hopelessness...but Bam seems like the personification of just that right now. :(
Oh, and you'll want this...and this, before you read.
Shaking his head, disgusted, Bam pushes himself away from the computer and tries to pretend he doesn’t still see the picture behind his closed eyelids. She’s haggard and bitchy and nasty, hell, he’s nasty for liking her, but he can’t stop himself.
She’s all he’s got left. She’ll hold him at night and let him fuck away his frustrations.
When he closes his eyes to sleep and the memories fuck up his brain, force sleep firmly away from his reach, she’ll drape herself over him and tease him until he’s got something to do in those waking hours, even something as useless as the empty fucks they have are.<
She’ll let him drink.
She’ll let him make out with Novak’s mingin’ ass.
She’ll let him…anything.
And he needs that. That anything, that anything to brush off flashes of interviews he’ll catch if he’s not quick enough to close his e-mail, to blow off texts he might get from the dude he knows hates the very idea of texting, to pretend a friendship that feels lifelong was just a shitty, too-gay phase in his life.
He needs somebody to let him fuck things up, because no matter how bad it gets, he can’t feel any worse than he did to begin with.
He needs somebody who’ll let him fuck them up even worse than he feels.
There’s got to be something he can do to fix how he hurts.
Until then, he tries everything, and she lets him.
***
There’s an apology on the airwaves of Los Angeles that means more to him than he wants it to, and less to the sorry fucker who made it.
They have the argument twice a year, if not more, when Bam gets visions and dares to tell somebody about them.
Usually it’s the subject of those visions, and that’s where the fighting comes in.
Because the fact is, there is a whiny bitch in their discussions, and even if Bam’s pretty damn sure it’s him, sometimes he gets thrown off by a moment he wasn’t expecting, a moment where it seems like there’s a little more tears in it than he was willing to give up himself.
He’s just glad he was out of the venue when the apologizer in question spoke those words.
Regardless of how much it hurt, he’s sure he would have made a total ass of himself forgiving.
***
“You chose well, Bam. Nobody’ll ever even guess you’re not actually into a woman so classless. The romantics will believe you’re in love, and the rest will stop caring enough to investigate.”
“Thanks, Miss…” He doesn’t mention how classy she was when she threw her heels in his face the day she found out about his desperate pining. How could he have helped it anyway? Sometimes even Bam Margera needs a reprieve from his mask, a day to mourn the hopelessness of the one thing he wants that money can’t buy.
The one thing he wants that nothing can get him.
“She’s certainly a woman, at least. I suppose that will help your image…”
“Damn…Missy, shut up. Please. Don’t talk about this.”
He can’t take it. Nobody was ever supposed to know. Nobody was ever supposed to suspect, even.
“…Alright, alright. I still say you should talk to him.”
“Ugh, fuck, Melissa! Seriously, you don’t get it.” He has.
“That apology sounded more than friendly, Brandon.”
He hates her for knowing him well enough to pick his brain, but more for not knowing enough to close her damn mouth on those stupid good intentions and let it be.
“…Just. You don’t know him like I do.”
When she talks - or protests, more like - he hangs up, on one of the only people who’s forgiven him for his terrible trespasses against her heart.
He’s not gonna put himself through the torture of explaining it all.
It’s not like he doesn’t have to remember daily anyway.
***
He’s got pictures. Loads and loads of pictures, pictures so misleading even he himself needs a slap of reality to know what’s really behind them.
There’s ones of hugging, there’s ones of kissing, there’s ones of caresses and laughs and shared cigarettes.
Contentment in all of them, because they were too young to care how they came off.
Then , at least.
Sometimes he throws them, the box of them, across the room, to watch them fly, float, drop with gravity back to the floor, rest there away from where he can be misled by them, too far for him to see their exact intricacies.
He does it because he can’t bring himself to do it at their subject.
But there are videos, too, and those…those he can’t throw.
They’re on his sites, they’re on his desktop, they’re in his fucking mind, and he can’t escape them.
He can close his eyes and remember them, feel them, so what’s the use in trying that anyway?
***
“Hey Bam? We’re doing a show in…”
“…I’m busy.”
“Fuck, I haven’t even said where or when yet.”
“I say I’m busy? Shit, I meant I don’t care.”
“Someday you…you know you’ll have to deal with it, sweetheart…”
“Stop fucking calling me that.”
“But-”
Click .
“Bam I’m sorry. I thought you got that in L.A…”
“Jesus H. Christ, Valo, can’t you get the hint?”
“Bam I can’t help how I…”
“Are we really gonna do this again? Isn’t the annual blowout enough for you?”
“…I miss you.”
“Yeah, well…I need more than that. Sorry you can’t handle it.”
“But Bam…”
“Go fuck a chick and write a ballad, Valo. Get ‘inspired’ and leave me the fuck alone.”
“Fuck, do we have to do this? Can’t we just-”
Click .
“She’s hotter than you, Vil…and tighter too. Way too fuckin’ tight…”
“Oh my fucking God, Bam, are you actually calling me while you’re…”
“Nnn…dunno why I even wanted your skinny ass…a-ah…”
“Jesus Bam you’re so drunk…and…and more miserable than I am.”
“’Bout time I won that contest for once…seeing as I have for years in my head…s-shit-t…”
“I’m sorry…fuck I’m so sorry but why do you have to be like this? We…we were…”
“We were lying, V-Valo…ngh…least I was…”
“I…I…Bam, I…”
“Ah shit…fuckin’ gonna…”
Click.
“…Ville?”
“…”
“Valo I know you’re there, you don’t tour for another week…”
“…”
“I-I just wanted to…say I’m sorry. She told me what I did and…fuck.”
“…”
“C-can’t you just…just please pick up?”
“…”
“Fucking hell I’m just…fuck I’m so sorry Ville…d-don’t let this... Just please don’t stop…”
“…”
“…I guess I’ll try you l-later… or you could, you could call. I’ll answer, I swear I will.”
“…”
“I won’t give you shit either, okay? That’s. That’s all I’m saying, alright bye.”
“…Bam?”
“…”
“Fuck.”
“We’re playing Finland…Pori. Soon, y’know…”
“…I might go. Been since what, March? Since I seen you guys play…”
“May, Bam…you were hiding, but I know you were at least one of the New York gigs.”
“…Whatever. You know what I meant.”
“So uh…I’ll see you then. I think you’ll actually get to see Mama, Daddy, and Jesse too...”
“Nice, man. Haven’t seen them in…Jesus. A really long fucking time.”
“I’ll leave you a backstage pass and put your name on the list, yeah?”
“Yeah. So uh…”
“Yeah. Em…bye.”
“…Ville?”
“…”
“…Just, ugh. I love you, okay?”
“…”
“…I know.”
“…”
“And I just wish…I don’t know what I wish. I just want us to be okay.”
“…”
Sigh.
Click.
***
It killed me to write this. Killed me to believe it might be true.
But I...well. I love the romanticism.
Let us believe that Bam is hitting bottom because he's brokenhearted.
The other reasons are too terrible to think about...
Have I lost you with this? Or was it refreshing?
Hate it, love it? Tell me! :)
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