Sequins
Title: Sequins
Rating: PG-13
Summary Hey, could you please turn down your underwear, it's melting my cupcake.
Bam frequented the little dessert shop on the corner at least fourteen times a week. Every morning he'd stop in for a coffee and bagel. Later on he found himself craving a cupcake, or an ice cream cone. Especially since his sprinkles always seemed to be the last of the heart-shaped ones. That he knew no other customer ever got those delicious little sugar flakes.
Even more so than the food (the quality of which was not to be questioned) his (secret) main reason for going was the boy behind the counter. Almost always in black or grey, his hair cut so short it curled every which direction, and grey-green eyes that mocked him playfully. Lithe muscles rolled smoothly under pale skin. Bam's favorite part of the boy, a newly acquired accessory, was the bold black outline of a heart on his wrist.
The boy had gotten it for his eighteenth birthday; he'd asked.
On this particular day, Bam was looking for a more sinful pastry. Sinful being over his self-imposed daily sugar allowance. It was his thirty-third birthday, and he headed to his favorite little shop in search of his fix. Outside the birds chirped, softly and in small groups, heralding the end of the summer. Across the street a jungle gym was crowded with the early-bird students. In ten minutes their mothers and older siblings would shepherd them into the cement school yard. In four months those anticipatory smiles would be replaced with tired little frowns, wanting only the reprieve of winter break. Bam was glad he'd skated himself out of that mill.
He escaped the early-morning sunlight under the cheery red and white canopy of "Le Petite Demon". The owner was a lady in her late fifties. She'd dyed her hair white after she'd found two tiny specks of grey. Eventually she added sky blue streaks. Apparently she'd had a fairly successful punk band in France in her thirties. Bam gave her a ride into downtown for her salon appointment every two months or so. After two years of shuttling her back and forth she'd offered him free guitar lessons, which he'd accepted. Then she offered him a free breakfast when he introduced her to a friend of his, a former French actor.
That was how he came to be lusting after her barely-legal employee. The sight of him smiling, snarky "When are you going to order something different?" always at the ready in the morning, had carried him through a difficult divorce, and a career-shaking coming out. Knowing the boy always had a moment for him to relay his troubles made it a bit more bearable. Did all that stuff really matter, in the end?
Especially since his accidental therapist had an ass that wouldn't quit. How Bam loved the invention of skinny jeans.
Overhead the wind chime clicked brightly. The smell of newly baked bread and fresh brewed coffee filled the small space, making Bam's mouth water. He crossed the lavender and cream checkerboard floor quietly, a foolish grin tugging up the corners of his lips. Someone was messing with the bottom of the oven. Peering over the violet counter Bam spotted the boy squatting down, his hands occupied with wires. Visible over the edge of his pants was a patch of silver sequins. In the middle a purple bow threatened to escape the confines of the denim completely. Unaware of his slackening modesty, he kept trying to fix the machine. As much as Bam enjoyed the view, along with the revelation of his (hopeful) conquest being into "party" underwear as everyday wear, he didn't like being privy to that information without permission.
"Hey, where's my breakfast?" He jumped, clear eyes narrowing as he looked over his shoulder. When he saw who it was he relaxed and stood up.
"I'm sorry. I had to replace a wire, but I can't find the hole anymore." He held up his hand; tiny scratches dotted his fingers and knuckles. "I've already gotten stuck." Bam chuckled, patting his head.
"Can I help? My tough geezer hands are a little more durable than yours." The boy frowned, but opened the gate to let him in.
"Yo ar old." Bam tsk-tsked.
"If that's the best you can come up with when your pride's been wounded..."
"Yeah, yeah. Next time you get mad about 'The Bitch' go whine to someone else." Bam, kneeled down, clutching his chest in pretend agony.
"Really, now you've killed me. Hand me those wires, ya' lousy teenager. The sooner this is fixed the sooner I can get away from your angst." The boy smirked, but kept silent.
"I'm letting you win." he mumbled as he handed him the stuff.
"Mmmhm." Peering into the hole, Bam found the spot. Feeling around he poked his finger into the outlet. He threaded the wire through his fingers, then slipped his digit away and replaced it with the plug.
"There you go, now make me a coffee, coffee-boy." He went back around to the customer side, amused at his young friend's irritated expression. "Come on now, kiddy, get pouring." He waved his hand towards the cups. The boy made to snarl, but instead he just grabbed a foam glass and served Bam his coffee. If he hadn't slammed it down Bam would have chalked up his aggravation to an act. The boy had never been less than polite, even when pretending to be annoyed. Something was actually bothering him though, and he'd be damned if he let this go by without even finding out why.
"What's wrong kid?" The boy popped his bagel into the toaster-oven. "Honestly, tell me. You okay?" He turned, crossing his arms and leaning against the metal door.
"It's- ow shit!" The metal has heated up rapidly, burning him through his thin black t-shirt. He hissed, rubbing the back of his neck tenderly.
"Be careful, kid. How long have you worked here? You know better." Again his eyes narrowed angrily.
"Don't te-" he cut himself off, eyeing Bam curiously, "How come you always call me 'kid'?"
"Uh, what?" The question had caught the man off-guard. The boy crossed his arms again, but this time shifted his weight to avoid leaning back.
"I've neve once eard you call me by my name." Bam shrugged, trying to hide his embarrassment.
"You've never told me what it is." He raised his hand in an "oh-well" manner.
"Oh. Really?" Bam nodded.
"It's Ville. Ville Valo. Please learn to say it correctly." The name was the perfect title to an exotic boy.
Ville. Mmmm, like the perfect frosting. Valo. Mmmm, and the surprise chocolate filling.
Resting on the edge of the counter. Bam asked, "That's not American, and I doubt it's anything I can guess. Where are you from?"
The toaster dinged and Ville turned to take it out. He picked out a cup of plain cream cheese.
"So-"
"It's from where I'm going back to." was his curt response. He paused to scrape the cream cheese on.
"Because that's not an enigmatic response at all." Ville looked up, glaring. He slathered the other side and jammed in on top.
"Finland." He wrapped up Bam's bagel and passed it across to him. He took it, nodding, then shook his head, confused.
"Finland? That's by Russia." Ville leaned against the counter, mimicking Bam's earlier pose.
"That's right, good job. Would you like a sticker?" Beyond the sarcasm Ville's voice was thick with disappointment.
"Why are you going back?" The boy sighed.
"My time is up. My daddy offered to help me with money here for a year. I- um, I wanted to get a band together, after my old one fell apart. It seemed I might get shit moving faster here." he smiled tightly, almost painfully. "Didn't happen, so I'm going home."
Bam tried hard to take it in stride, he really did; unfortunately try is a set up word for fail, and so he did. The object of his desire was going away, to Finland, where he'd work in another coffee shop, and meet someone his age... and forget all about him.
Well, this birthday had turned out fucking awesome. For. Sure.
"Uh, um, when are you leaving?"
In two days. Friday."
"When, though? What time?" Ville looked at him quizzically.
"That's important because?"
"I- just- you're my friend, Ville. It's important."
Ville watched him for a moment. This man, famous for skateboarding, nearly two decades older than him, who he had comforted more times than he could count, was showing an interest in him that he wasn't quite sure how to digest.
There wasn't any harm now, he figured.
"Friday, six a.m. Gate 24. If you want to see me off." he touched Bam's hand, resting the tips of his fingers on the man's knuckles for a millisecond. Then he disappeared into the kitchen.
Bam swallowed. He took his breakfast, not bothering to wait Ville out.
-_-_-_-_-----
Ville examined his ticket. Everything in him screamed to run out of the airport, well, screaming, to forgo going home until his band had recorded their first album.
'Oh yeah? How are you going to eat, kid?'
'Pay for rehearsal space?'
'Studio time?'
'Your apartment?' He went over the list of things he needed to survive, and the things he needed for his music. It was a lot of money, to be honest.
'You could always sleep with Bam. You know he wants you, practically loves you. You like him too, don't lie.' ille shooed the thought away. As much as he liked his favorite customer, he wanted to have him for the sake of being with him, not because he was using him to get a (the closer to take off he got) ridiculous dream. Maybe Mige's army term would be over by now.
'He's famous, he has rock star friends. He can help you.'
"Fuck off." growled the boy.
"Oh, sorry." Ville's head whipped around. Bam was standing not five feet from him. His hair was a bit tamer than usual, his clothes more well-kept.
"Not, no, I wasn't talking to you. Just my Id." Bam nodded, not caring to hear a explanation. He sat down next to him, pulling out a ticket from his pocket. "You got a ticket to Finland?"
"Yeah, but I'm not going. I just needed a reason to come talk to you."
"Someone else probably wanted that ticket, and a ticket to somewhere else would have been cheaper. A- is tha first class? Why the fuck did you buy first clas seat just to say goodbye?"
Bam shrugged, running his fingers through his hair. He frowned when he realized he'd just fucked up the effort in making himself decent.
"No matter. Ville, are you ever coming back?"
"Probably not. I doubt a Finnish band is going to tour America in the near future, not at the rate we're going..." His companion nodded again, not sure what to say. The silence stretched on a good while until Ville grabbed his hand, squeezing. Bam looked up, his brow furrowed in thought, but didn't speak.
"Thank you, for being my friend. Even though it didn't seem like it, being able to see you made me feel better. Even when people canceled on me, or we got dropped from a bill, knowing I would see you made a stressful time bearable." Ville held onto Bam's hand, determined to get as much of the feeling out now, while he still could. "Maybe if I had more time, I could have loved you. I'm glad for what we did ha-"
"I liked your sequined underwear." Bam cupped the boy's hands in his. "I've liked you since the minute I laid eyes on you. But those panties... Ville, holy shit! I like your name, your clothes, you voice, your little tattoo. Everything- and that's never happened to me." He stopped. The list would keep going on forever if he didn't.
Ville's eyes widened. His heart thumped a little faster and for the most part he wanted to straddle Bam and kiss him 'til all he could taste for a week was skater boy.
That would only make it more difficult, in the end, so with a will that surprised him, he pulled his hands away and clasped them in his lap. He was cooler already.
"I'm going to miss you Bam-Bam. I really am." he giggled. "About the underwear," he fished around in his carry-on and pulled out the sequined object in question, "it was my last load of laundry, and I forgot to pack it with my other things. You can, uh, keep them. I have more."
Bam snorted, mumbling something about "indecent little tease."
A warbly voice asked all the passengers of flight forty-seven to board. Ville smiled, his eyes crinkling up. Bam couldn't tell if he was trying not to cry, or legitimately feeling better.
Probably the former.
"I love you, in the way I can. I wish we had done this sooner." He stood, as did Bam, his lanky figure towering over the older man. Bam threaded his fingers through the boy's, holding his underwear in the other. They both leaned in, sharing a surprisingly chaste kiss. Whatever passion they might have felt for each other was too big to let loose in so short a time, so they held back. Ville's on his hand was unshakable; he let go only until his arm hurt from reaching back.
He didn't look back once he did.
Once the boy had gotten into the plane, Bam studied his gift. Inside it was lined with purple satin. A message had been stitched along the edge in black thread.
"I'd really like these back. Call 708 879 97**"
The last two numbers had come undone, only little knots left.
What a horrible tease.
Rating: PG-13
Summary Hey, could you please turn down your underwear, it's melting my cupcake.
Bam frequented the little dessert shop on the corner at least fourteen times a week. Every morning he'd stop in for a coffee and bagel. Later on he found himself craving a cupcake, or an ice cream cone. Especially since his sprinkles always seemed to be the last of the heart-shaped ones. That he knew no other customer ever got those delicious little sugar flakes.
Even more so than the food (the quality of which was not to be questioned) his (secret) main reason for going was the boy behind the counter. Almost always in black or grey, his hair cut so short it curled every which direction, and grey-green eyes that mocked him playfully. Lithe muscles rolled smoothly under pale skin. Bam's favorite part of the boy, a newly acquired accessory, was the bold black outline of a heart on his wrist.
The boy had gotten it for his eighteenth birthday; he'd asked.
On this particular day, Bam was looking for a more sinful pastry. Sinful being over his self-imposed daily sugar allowance. It was his thirty-third birthday, and he headed to his favorite little shop in search of his fix. Outside the birds chirped, softly and in small groups, heralding the end of the summer. Across the street a jungle gym was crowded with the early-bird students. In ten minutes their mothers and older siblings would shepherd them into the cement school yard. In four months those anticipatory smiles would be replaced with tired little frowns, wanting only the reprieve of winter break. Bam was glad he'd skated himself out of that mill.
He escaped the early-morning sunlight under the cheery red and white canopy of "Le Petite Demon". The owner was a lady in her late fifties. She'd dyed her hair white after she'd found two tiny specks of grey. Eventually she added sky blue streaks. Apparently she'd had a fairly successful punk band in France in her thirties. Bam gave her a ride into downtown for her salon appointment every two months or so. After two years of shuttling her back and forth she'd offered him free guitar lessons, which he'd accepted. Then she offered him a free breakfast when he introduced her to a friend of his, a former French actor.
That was how he came to be lusting after her barely-legal employee. The sight of him smiling, snarky "When are you going to order something different?" always at the ready in the morning, had carried him through a difficult divorce, and a career-shaking coming out. Knowing the boy always had a moment for him to relay his troubles made it a bit more bearable. Did all that stuff really matter, in the end?
Especially since his accidental therapist had an ass that wouldn't quit. How Bam loved the invention of skinny jeans.
Overhead the wind chime clicked brightly. The smell of newly baked bread and fresh brewed coffee filled the small space, making Bam's mouth water. He crossed the lavender and cream checkerboard floor quietly, a foolish grin tugging up the corners of his lips. Someone was messing with the bottom of the oven. Peering over the violet counter Bam spotted the boy squatting down, his hands occupied with wires. Visible over the edge of his pants was a patch of silver sequins. In the middle a purple bow threatened to escape the confines of the denim completely. Unaware of his slackening modesty, he kept trying to fix the machine. As much as Bam enjoyed the view, along with the revelation of his (hopeful) conquest being into "party" underwear as everyday wear, he didn't like being privy to that information without permission.
"Hey, where's my breakfast?" He jumped, clear eyes narrowing as he looked over his shoulder. When he saw who it was he relaxed and stood up.
"I'm sorry. I had to replace a wire, but I can't find the hole anymore." He held up his hand; tiny scratches dotted his fingers and knuckles. "I've already gotten stuck." Bam chuckled, patting his head.
"Can I help? My tough geezer hands are a little more durable than yours." The boy frowned, but opened the gate to let him in.
"Yo ar old." Bam tsk-tsked.
"If that's the best you can come up with when your pride's been wounded..."
"Yeah, yeah. Next time you get mad about 'The Bitch' go whine to someone else." Bam, kneeled down, clutching his chest in pretend agony.
"Really, now you've killed me. Hand me those wires, ya' lousy teenager. The sooner this is fixed the sooner I can get away from your angst." The boy smirked, but kept silent.
"I'm letting you win." he mumbled as he handed him the stuff.
"Mmmhm." Peering into the hole, Bam found the spot. Feeling around he poked his finger into the outlet. He threaded the wire through his fingers, then slipped his digit away and replaced it with the plug.
"There you go, now make me a coffee, coffee-boy." He went back around to the customer side, amused at his young friend's irritated expression. "Come on now, kiddy, get pouring." He waved his hand towards the cups. The boy made to snarl, but instead he just grabbed a foam glass and served Bam his coffee. If he hadn't slammed it down Bam would have chalked up his aggravation to an act. The boy had never been less than polite, even when pretending to be annoyed. Something was actually bothering him though, and he'd be damned if he let this go by without even finding out why.
"What's wrong kid?" The boy popped his bagel into the toaster-oven. "Honestly, tell me. You okay?" He turned, crossing his arms and leaning against the metal door.
"It's- ow shit!" The metal has heated up rapidly, burning him through his thin black t-shirt. He hissed, rubbing the back of his neck tenderly.
"Be careful, kid. How long have you worked here? You know better." Again his eyes narrowed angrily.
"Don't te-" he cut himself off, eyeing Bam curiously, "How come you always call me 'kid'?"
"Uh, what?" The question had caught the man off-guard. The boy crossed his arms again, but this time shifted his weight to avoid leaning back.
"I've neve once eard you call me by my name." Bam shrugged, trying to hide his embarrassment.
"You've never told me what it is." He raised his hand in an "oh-well" manner.
"Oh. Really?" Bam nodded.
"It's Ville. Ville Valo. Please learn to say it correctly." The name was the perfect title to an exotic boy.
Ville. Mmmm, like the perfect frosting. Valo. Mmmm, and the surprise chocolate filling.
Resting on the edge of the counter. Bam asked, "That's not American, and I doubt it's anything I can guess. Where are you from?"
The toaster dinged and Ville turned to take it out. He picked out a cup of plain cream cheese.
"So-"
"It's from where I'm going back to." was his curt response. He paused to scrape the cream cheese on.
"Because that's not an enigmatic response at all." Ville looked up, glaring. He slathered the other side and jammed in on top.
"Finland." He wrapped up Bam's bagel and passed it across to him. He took it, nodding, then shook his head, confused.
"Finland? That's by Russia." Ville leaned against the counter, mimicking Bam's earlier pose.
"That's right, good job. Would you like a sticker?" Beyond the sarcasm Ville's voice was thick with disappointment.
"Why are you going back?" The boy sighed.
"My time is up. My daddy offered to help me with money here for a year. I- um, I wanted to get a band together, after my old one fell apart. It seemed I might get shit moving faster here." he smiled tightly, almost painfully. "Didn't happen, so I'm going home."
Bam tried hard to take it in stride, he really did; unfortunately try is a set up word for fail, and so he did. The object of his desire was going away, to Finland, where he'd work in another coffee shop, and meet someone his age... and forget all about him.
Well, this birthday had turned out fucking awesome. For. Sure.
"Uh, um, when are you leaving?"
In two days. Friday."
"When, though? What time?" Ville looked at him quizzically.
"That's important because?"
"I- just- you're my friend, Ville. It's important."
Ville watched him for a moment. This man, famous for skateboarding, nearly two decades older than him, who he had comforted more times than he could count, was showing an interest in him that he wasn't quite sure how to digest.
There wasn't any harm now, he figured.
"Friday, six a.m. Gate 24. If you want to see me off." he touched Bam's hand, resting the tips of his fingers on the man's knuckles for a millisecond. Then he disappeared into the kitchen.
Bam swallowed. He took his breakfast, not bothering to wait Ville out.
-_-_-_-_-----
Ville examined his ticket. Everything in him screamed to run out of the airport, well, screaming, to forgo going home until his band had recorded their first album.
'Oh yeah? How are you going to eat, kid?'
'Pay for rehearsal space?'
'Studio time?'
'Your apartment?' He went over the list of things he needed to survive, and the things he needed for his music. It was a lot of money, to be honest.
'You could always sleep with Bam. You know he wants you, practically loves you. You like him too, don't lie.' ille shooed the thought away. As much as he liked his favorite customer, he wanted to have him for the sake of being with him, not because he was using him to get a (the closer to take off he got) ridiculous dream. Maybe Mige's army term would be over by now.
'He's famous, he has rock star friends. He can help you.'
"Fuck off." growled the boy.
"Oh, sorry." Ville's head whipped around. Bam was standing not five feet from him. His hair was a bit tamer than usual, his clothes more well-kept.
"Not, no, I wasn't talking to you. Just my Id." Bam nodded, not caring to hear a explanation. He sat down next to him, pulling out a ticket from his pocket. "You got a ticket to Finland?"
"Yeah, but I'm not going. I just needed a reason to come talk to you."
"Someone else probably wanted that ticket, and a ticket to somewhere else would have been cheaper. A- is tha first class? Why the fuck did you buy first clas seat just to say goodbye?"
Bam shrugged, running his fingers through his hair. He frowned when he realized he'd just fucked up the effort in making himself decent.
"No matter. Ville, are you ever coming back?"
"Probably not. I doubt a Finnish band is going to tour America in the near future, not at the rate we're going..." His companion nodded again, not sure what to say. The silence stretched on a good while until Ville grabbed his hand, squeezing. Bam looked up, his brow furrowed in thought, but didn't speak.
"Thank you, for being my friend. Even though it didn't seem like it, being able to see you made me feel better. Even when people canceled on me, or we got dropped from a bill, knowing I would see you made a stressful time bearable." Ville held onto Bam's hand, determined to get as much of the feeling out now, while he still could. "Maybe if I had more time, I could have loved you. I'm glad for what we did ha-"
"I liked your sequined underwear." Bam cupped the boy's hands in his. "I've liked you since the minute I laid eyes on you. But those panties... Ville, holy shit! I like your name, your clothes, you voice, your little tattoo. Everything- and that's never happened to me." He stopped. The list would keep going on forever if he didn't.
Ville's eyes widened. His heart thumped a little faster and for the most part he wanted to straddle Bam and kiss him 'til all he could taste for a week was skater boy.
That would only make it more difficult, in the end, so with a will that surprised him, he pulled his hands away and clasped them in his lap. He was cooler already.
"I'm going to miss you Bam-Bam. I really am." he giggled. "About the underwear," he fished around in his carry-on and pulled out the sequined object in question, "it was my last load of laundry, and I forgot to pack it with my other things. You can, uh, keep them. I have more."
Bam snorted, mumbling something about "indecent little tease."
A warbly voice asked all the passengers of flight forty-seven to board. Ville smiled, his eyes crinkling up. Bam couldn't tell if he was trying not to cry, or legitimately feeling better.
Probably the former.
"I love you, in the way I can. I wish we had done this sooner." He stood, as did Bam, his lanky figure towering over the older man. Bam threaded his fingers through the boy's, holding his underwear in the other. They both leaned in, sharing a surprisingly chaste kiss. Whatever passion they might have felt for each other was too big to let loose in so short a time, so they held back. Ville's on his hand was unshakable; he let go only until his arm hurt from reaching back.
He didn't look back once he did.
Once the boy had gotten into the plane, Bam studied his gift. Inside it was lined with purple satin. A message had been stitched along the edge in black thread.
"I'd really like these back. Call 708 879 97**"
The last two numbers had come undone, only little knots left.
What a horrible tease.