(no subject)
Title: Fame
Author: _rehabreject_
Pairing: Fink/Brian Molko (Placebo)
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: This is fan fiction, and by no means true.
Notes: For lostingreen who requested this on my ficlet meme with the prompts of seduction, poison and blow.
The epitome of fame surrounds Brian, elegance in the form of glistening diamonds and golden champagne a cushion wrapped tightly around him; tight, smothering, trapping him forever and always. His eyes roam the room, dazzling green hovering over the sights before him, unimpressed sparks flickering up in them at the lack of familiar intimacy. Strangers decorate the chairs, weaving through and past and around, ants in disguise all dressed to impress. He feels disdain, boredom washing over him and dragging him down to its desolate depths, a wish to escape and be anywhere but his current location running thick through his veins.
And then he double takes, eyes falling on someone - something - someone, the image so out of place that he’s half convinced it was a mirage conjured up by his imagination.
The devil slouches in the corner of the room, contempt dressed up and hidden by a mask.
He looks again, and as though in a bid to prove him wrong, the devil begins to move towards him. Glamour peels away from the walls at such a difference to the norm, dripping to the floor and away leaving them abandoned in the Hell that only Brian had felt beforehand.
“I saw you looking at me.” The words flow from the devil’s mouth, perfect ease entering the air, and the devil says, “The name’s Fink.”
Brian looks, eyes fixated and unmoving, the name slotting over the face and leaving a complete, picture perfect sight before him. The voice rains down on him; poison pins and needles of seduction prickling into his very soul. And he opens his mouth, a half-formed reply drifting in his brain, and the devil cuts him off.
One gloved hand wraps around his wrist, a finger of the other pressing against his mouth. The actions are gentle, but they hit him hard as a blow from a fist.
“Quiet,” the devil, Fink, whispers - growls - commands. “I want you. Tonight, you can be mine.”
All of Brian’s usual confidence is stripped away by such a voice, by such an order; he’s left raw and wanting and everything he normally hides away. The perfect example of what he loves to exploit in others. Desperately, he nods, surrendering himself.
The devil leads him out of his own private Hell, into a night sky heavy and knowing and humid with promises. A pair of black lips smash against his, hard, making a claim until blood rises to the surface and his back slams into a wall, and as it happens he remembers tales of the devil tricking unsuspecting victims into sin.
He smiles into the mouth covering his. His hands slide downwards, slick over danger-coloured vinyl, and Brian knows he’s already lost. There’s a burning seat of flame and pain with his name on it, ready and waiting for when the time comes; such a fate twists from punishment to a tantalising prospect, desire tangled up now that Fink, his very own devil, has been entered into the equation.
Hell has never been so appealing.
Author: _rehabreject_
Pairing: Fink/Brian Molko (Placebo)
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: This is fan fiction, and by no means true.
Notes: For lostingreen who requested this on my ficlet meme with the prompts of seduction, poison and blow.
The epitome of fame surrounds Brian, elegance in the form of glistening diamonds and golden champagne a cushion wrapped tightly around him; tight, smothering, trapping him forever and always. His eyes roam the room, dazzling green hovering over the sights before him, unimpressed sparks flickering up in them at the lack of familiar intimacy. Strangers decorate the chairs, weaving through and past and around, ants in disguise all dressed to impress. He feels disdain, boredom washing over him and dragging him down to its desolate depths, a wish to escape and be anywhere but his current location running thick through his veins.
And then he double takes, eyes falling on someone - something - someone, the image so out of place that he’s half convinced it was a mirage conjured up by his imagination.
The devil slouches in the corner of the room, contempt dressed up and hidden by a mask.
He looks again, and as though in a bid to prove him wrong, the devil begins to move towards him. Glamour peels away from the walls at such a difference to the norm, dripping to the floor and away leaving them abandoned in the Hell that only Brian had felt beforehand.
“I saw you looking at me.” The words flow from the devil’s mouth, perfect ease entering the air, and the devil says, “The name’s Fink.”
Brian looks, eyes fixated and unmoving, the name slotting over the face and leaving a complete, picture perfect sight before him. The voice rains down on him; poison pins and needles of seduction prickling into his very soul. And he opens his mouth, a half-formed reply drifting in his brain, and the devil cuts him off.
One gloved hand wraps around his wrist, a finger of the other pressing against his mouth. The actions are gentle, but they hit him hard as a blow from a fist.
“Quiet,” the devil, Fink, whispers - growls - commands. “I want you. Tonight, you can be mine.”
All of Brian’s usual confidence is stripped away by such a voice, by such an order; he’s left raw and wanting and everything he normally hides away. The perfect example of what he loves to exploit in others. Desperately, he nods, surrendering himself.
The devil leads him out of his own private Hell, into a night sky heavy and knowing and humid with promises. A pair of black lips smash against his, hard, making a claim until blood rises to the surface and his back slams into a wall, and as it happens he remembers tales of the devil tricking unsuspecting victims into sin.
He smiles into the mouth covering his. His hands slide downwards, slick over danger-coloured vinyl, and Brian knows he’s already lost. There’s a burning seat of flame and pain with his name on it, ready and waiting for when the time comes; such a fate twists from punishment to a tantalising prospect, desire tangled up now that Fink, his very own devil, has been entered into the equation.
Hell has never been so appealing.