Mingled Masks - 4
My apologies that it took me so long to update, but real life is really busy at the moment. I've got a hundred things on my mind lately and it's only going to get worse now the exams are approaching. *sigh*
Title: Mingled Masks
Pairing: Brian/Stefan, Brian/other
Rating: Taste In Man
Genre: angst/comfort
Disclaimer: none of these characters are mine. I don't make any profit these stories.
Summary: Brian falls in love with a fan, but things don't really turn out the way he had intended them to.
Previous chapters: chapter 1, chapter 2, chapter 3
It was an uneasy silence that ruled their house. A silence that could’ve meant everything: a longing, anticipation, angst for the unknown, but it was mostly nervous waiting, only disturbed by a rhythmic ticking of Brian tapping the table’s surface with his fingers. He was staring in front of him, his chin leaning on his hand, a cigarette between his fingers and a ladder of smoke lingering at the ceiling, deciding which way to flow. Its choice didn’t matter to Brian who was lost in his own thoughts, being oblivious to his surroundings.
After a minute of being blind, he blinked and turned his head, seeing Stef watching him.
“How long have you been standing there?” he asked. His voice sounded too loud for the silence and broke it into a million pieces. He heard them falling, one by one, like crystals on ice: clear and sharp. Stef turned away and walked to the cd-player. Flipping through the cd’s he said: “Long enough, and yet, perhaps not long enough.”, to which he looked up and saw Brian stumbling to the black, leather couch. Deciding ABBA was good enough a choice, he left it with that and joined Brian who crawled closer and put his head on Stef’s shoulder. The fag lay forgotten in the ashtray. Brian reached for his hand and wrapped them together, aiming for nothing special. He was just happy having his friend close by.
“What did you say to him?” Stef asked.
“To come to our house in half an hour,” Brian replied. “I hope you don’t mind I invited him over.”
“No,” Stef sighed out of fatigue, “I know what he means to you.”
“Do you?” he asked, hope and insecurity mixed together in perfect harmony.
“I think so, yeah. What are you gonna do with him?”
There was a slight pause, not really knowing if it was supposed to be there and quickly chased away as Brian replied bluntly.
“Fuck.”
The word weight so heavy that Stefan didn’t really dare to ask. Music brought forth its many notes, shaped in different forms and colours. He had heard them many times before, but never gotten tired of them. It brought him home, to a land of snow and forests, of elks, to the country of his family and roots, but never to Brian; so he pulled himself out of his reveries and asked.
“Fuck, or make love?” Fuck like you do with those unknown to you, or make love like you do when you do afterwards, when you come to your consoler?
“Make love,” he corrected himself without doubt.
Feeling was something both of them experienced too often, yet their conversation underwent a certain lack of it. It they would’ve been discussing what to eat the next day, it might’ve sounded the same. They knew where a raised voice could take them, so they decided against it. But their hearts were leaking emotions unspent that made their way through every vein to the tops of their fingers which tightened, to their lips which kissed, through their bodies that toppled each other, Stef covering Brian, devouring him.
They tried to save something, but couldn’t put their finger on it. It was sweet and shared between them. One asked and the other replied. It was a mutual understanding. Two bodies, one mind.
A cough caught them by surprise. Both looked up at each other, one cursed the intruder, the other wasn’t so sure.
“They won’t believe him,” Stef whispered into Brian’s ear. He was trying to escape from underneath Stef who now felt like a heavy burden to him.
“Don’t go,” Stefan pleaded softly, but Brian didn’t listen, he never did. Instead he struggled away as far as he could get, closer to the boy. He took the other’s hand in his and led him away to his own room’s secrecy.
Stefan remained alone and forgotten. He got up reluctantly, still feeling Brian pressed against him. The music was turned off, instead the television put on. He sank back onto the couch and lay down, flipping through the different channels, but none were as interesting as Brian’s lingering smell and warmth being sucked into his body and memory.
~*~
He didn’t quite know what to do. Nervously he gestured to the bed, then bit his nail and started searching for something. He blushed when he didn’t find it. He couldn’t stand still. When he found himself opening the cupboard with his clothes in it, he scolded at himself and closed it again quickly.
“Do you want something to drink?” he asked. “You must be thirsty after the show. We’ve got beer, wine, do you like wine?, there’s white and red and we’ve also got orange juice if you prefer that. Do you?” He was rambling and was well aware of it. The blush deepened.
“Sorry,” he said, then after a few seconds of silence he tried anew. “Do you want anything to drink?” And he bit his tongue before it could start a whole life on its own.
“A beer’s fine,” the boy said casually.
“A beer, a beer, where’s the beer?” Brian muttered. He tugged at his clothes and pondered for a while, tapping his fingers against his lips. His mind had taken over from him. He found it difficult to think straight. His thoughts seemed to focus solely on the boy on his bed, sitting there, one hand at each side behind him, supporting him. Brian saw him testing the spring action of his mattress, saw him grinning as the boy looked up sheepishly. Brian smiled back, thinking about other ways of testing it. It’s beer I need, where’s the beer.
“Excuse me for a sec while I go and get the beer,” he said, and hasted out of the room.
“Back already?” Stefan asked, keeping his stare fixed on the television, though he saw nothing. Brian ignored him, looked at the flashing screen instead. He wondered what Stef found so interesting about race cars. He had always thought it was Steve’s thing. Apparently not. He shook it off and went to the fridge. There was a shiver running down his spine as the cold hit him. Small clouds formed as he breathed in and out. There was only one beer left. He knew how much Steve liked it.
“D’you know when Steve will be back?”
“Nope,” came the uninterested reply. Brian raised an eyebrow, but once again, shrugged Stefan’s uneasiness off. Stefan wasn’t his interest now, nor his unease, nor the boring show on television which he preferred to watch, nor the questions that came to mind. He’d deal with it later, when the boy was gone, when he was happy again and had gotten what he wanted. There were no questions about that. It was a simple truth already etched in stone. It couldn’t be altered. He smiled, thinking about what would come. He felt the boy’s hands, his flat chest heaving. The thought he was alone on his bed aroused him.
“Brian?” Stef yelled.
“Wha?” he looked up suddenly, feeling irritated for his interrupted thoughts.
“Shut that door, will you. It’s getting cold.”
Stef was extremely unromantic. It almost ruined Brian’s mood of love. Almost, if he had spent more time on it. He quickly closed the door of the fridge, grabbed two glasses and a bottle of red wine, deciding Steve would want the last beer. Wine is more romantic anyway, he thought. The only thing missing was a red rose and petals spread around the blanket. The boy lying naked in between them. Drops of champagne dripping slowly on his body, running in small streams to his sides.
Before opening the door to his room, he halted, then turned back. If he remembered, there was still a bottle of champagne left. He had gotten it together with eleven others. He couldn’t remember what for, only they had gotten him pretty wasted afterwards. He giggled.
“You’re so pretty when you’re drunk, Stef,” Brian remarked suddenly.
“Really?” Stef asked, raising an eyebrow, but smiling nevertheless.
“Uhu, it makes you look cute. You’re eyes get smaller, your smile a lot sweeter. I like it to see you drunk.”
“Not tonight, though,” Stef replied silently.
“No, not tonight,” Brian sighed. “I’m sorry.”
He changed the bottle of wine for the champagne and disappeared into his room. He didn’t see how Stefan rubbed away a tear.
Stefan was not a part of his story. Not now anyway. His eyes sparked when he saw him lying on his bed with closed eyes. His blond hair sprawled across the pillow, one hand on his belly, the other resting next to his body. For a moment Brian hesitated, wondering if he could use the moment to snap a quick picture. One he could put into his wallet and carry with him wherever he went. But the boy opened his eyes and the idea was forgotten.
“Hey there, did you sleep?” Brian asked. The boy shook his head. “I’ve gotten some champers, thought you mind like it instead of beer. Beer’s so cheap, you know.” He poured them two glasses, equally full. “Here you go, to us!” The boy hesitated, perhaps knowing that something was not quite as it should’ve been. That, perhaps, something was going to happen, though he didn’t know what, only that Molko was up to something and that perhaps, he wasn’t going to like it. He smiled and toasted along. He waited and would see.
“Has somebody ever told you that you have beautiful eyes?” Brian smiled innocently. There it was, the thing he had waited for. It had come quicker than he had thought. Brian sure was not one to shy away.
“No, not yet, until now,” the boy replied. “Have they said so about yours?”
“All the time,” Brian replied sadly, “though they never mean it. They’re just being polite, you know. They only want me for who I am.”
He snapped back to reality. Who was this boy to pour his heart out to anyway? He’s the boy he had never spoken to, the boy he had fallen in love with, the boy he trusted though he had never told him any secret. He felt butterflies in his chest. The champagne helped. He wanted to kiss him, to taste the lips that were moving so elegantly. He knew he was staring, but he didn’t care. If only those lips were pressed against his, to run his tongue along them, to feel their softness and fullness. The dream had been going on for too long.
Slowly he got up and sat closer to the boy.
“Can I have your glass, please,” he asked. The boy gave it to him. Brian sipped from it, then placed it aside with his own. He leaned closer, looking him in the eyes, looking for a reaction, but he saw none. There was no love to be found, no longing, no will to gaze at the stars together with him, no will to kiss. But it was too late to turn around, to change his mind. The stone had been etched a long time ago, it had stood against rain and wind and it had held. But it crumbled to pieces when their lips met.
TBC
Title: Mingled Masks
Pairing: Brian/Stefan, Brian/other
Rating: Taste In Man
Genre: angst/comfort
Disclaimer: none of these characters are mine. I don't make any profit these stories.
Summary: Brian falls in love with a fan, but things don't really turn out the way he had intended them to.
Previous chapters: chapter 1, chapter 2, chapter 3
It was an uneasy silence that ruled their house. A silence that could’ve meant everything: a longing, anticipation, angst for the unknown, but it was mostly nervous waiting, only disturbed by a rhythmic ticking of Brian tapping the table’s surface with his fingers. He was staring in front of him, his chin leaning on his hand, a cigarette between his fingers and a ladder of smoke lingering at the ceiling, deciding which way to flow. Its choice didn’t matter to Brian who was lost in his own thoughts, being oblivious to his surroundings.
After a minute of being blind, he blinked and turned his head, seeing Stef watching him.
“How long have you been standing there?” he asked. His voice sounded too loud for the silence and broke it into a million pieces. He heard them falling, one by one, like crystals on ice: clear and sharp. Stef turned away and walked to the cd-player. Flipping through the cd’s he said: “Long enough, and yet, perhaps not long enough.”, to which he looked up and saw Brian stumbling to the black, leather couch. Deciding ABBA was good enough a choice, he left it with that and joined Brian who crawled closer and put his head on Stef’s shoulder. The fag lay forgotten in the ashtray. Brian reached for his hand and wrapped them together, aiming for nothing special. He was just happy having his friend close by.
“What did you say to him?” Stef asked.
“To come to our house in half an hour,” Brian replied. “I hope you don’t mind I invited him over.”
“No,” Stef sighed out of fatigue, “I know what he means to you.”
“Do you?” he asked, hope and insecurity mixed together in perfect harmony.
“I think so, yeah. What are you gonna do with him?”
There was a slight pause, not really knowing if it was supposed to be there and quickly chased away as Brian replied bluntly.
“Fuck.”
The word weight so heavy that Stefan didn’t really dare to ask. Music brought forth its many notes, shaped in different forms and colours. He had heard them many times before, but never gotten tired of them. It brought him home, to a land of snow and forests, of elks, to the country of his family and roots, but never to Brian; so he pulled himself out of his reveries and asked.
“Fuck, or make love?” Fuck like you do with those unknown to you, or make love like you do when you do afterwards, when you come to your consoler?
“Make love,” he corrected himself without doubt.
Feeling was something both of them experienced too often, yet their conversation underwent a certain lack of it. It they would’ve been discussing what to eat the next day, it might’ve sounded the same. They knew where a raised voice could take them, so they decided against it. But their hearts were leaking emotions unspent that made their way through every vein to the tops of their fingers which tightened, to their lips which kissed, through their bodies that toppled each other, Stef covering Brian, devouring him.
They tried to save something, but couldn’t put their finger on it. It was sweet and shared between them. One asked and the other replied. It was a mutual understanding. Two bodies, one mind.
A cough caught them by surprise. Both looked up at each other, one cursed the intruder, the other wasn’t so sure.
“They won’t believe him,” Stef whispered into Brian’s ear. He was trying to escape from underneath Stef who now felt like a heavy burden to him.
“Don’t go,” Stefan pleaded softly, but Brian didn’t listen, he never did. Instead he struggled away as far as he could get, closer to the boy. He took the other’s hand in his and led him away to his own room’s secrecy.
Stefan remained alone and forgotten. He got up reluctantly, still feeling Brian pressed against him. The music was turned off, instead the television put on. He sank back onto the couch and lay down, flipping through the different channels, but none were as interesting as Brian’s lingering smell and warmth being sucked into his body and memory.
~*~
He didn’t quite know what to do. Nervously he gestured to the bed, then bit his nail and started searching for something. He blushed when he didn’t find it. He couldn’t stand still. When he found himself opening the cupboard with his clothes in it, he scolded at himself and closed it again quickly.
“Do you want something to drink?” he asked. “You must be thirsty after the show. We’ve got beer, wine, do you like wine?, there’s white and red and we’ve also got orange juice if you prefer that. Do you?” He was rambling and was well aware of it. The blush deepened.
“Sorry,” he said, then after a few seconds of silence he tried anew. “Do you want anything to drink?” And he bit his tongue before it could start a whole life on its own.
“A beer’s fine,” the boy said casually.
“A beer, a beer, where’s the beer?” Brian muttered. He tugged at his clothes and pondered for a while, tapping his fingers against his lips. His mind had taken over from him. He found it difficult to think straight. His thoughts seemed to focus solely on the boy on his bed, sitting there, one hand at each side behind him, supporting him. Brian saw him testing the spring action of his mattress, saw him grinning as the boy looked up sheepishly. Brian smiled back, thinking about other ways of testing it. It’s beer I need, where’s the beer.
“Excuse me for a sec while I go and get the beer,” he said, and hasted out of the room.
“Back already?” Stefan asked, keeping his stare fixed on the television, though he saw nothing. Brian ignored him, looked at the flashing screen instead. He wondered what Stef found so interesting about race cars. He had always thought it was Steve’s thing. Apparently not. He shook it off and went to the fridge. There was a shiver running down his spine as the cold hit him. Small clouds formed as he breathed in and out. There was only one beer left. He knew how much Steve liked it.
“D’you know when Steve will be back?”
“Nope,” came the uninterested reply. Brian raised an eyebrow, but once again, shrugged Stefan’s uneasiness off. Stefan wasn’t his interest now, nor his unease, nor the boring show on television which he preferred to watch, nor the questions that came to mind. He’d deal with it later, when the boy was gone, when he was happy again and had gotten what he wanted. There were no questions about that. It was a simple truth already etched in stone. It couldn’t be altered. He smiled, thinking about what would come. He felt the boy’s hands, his flat chest heaving. The thought he was alone on his bed aroused him.
“Brian?” Stef yelled.
“Wha?” he looked up suddenly, feeling irritated for his interrupted thoughts.
“Shut that door, will you. It’s getting cold.”
Stef was extremely unromantic. It almost ruined Brian’s mood of love. Almost, if he had spent more time on it. He quickly closed the door of the fridge, grabbed two glasses and a bottle of red wine, deciding Steve would want the last beer. Wine is more romantic anyway, he thought. The only thing missing was a red rose and petals spread around the blanket. The boy lying naked in between them. Drops of champagne dripping slowly on his body, running in small streams to his sides.
Before opening the door to his room, he halted, then turned back. If he remembered, there was still a bottle of champagne left. He had gotten it together with eleven others. He couldn’t remember what for, only they had gotten him pretty wasted afterwards. He giggled.
“You’re so pretty when you’re drunk, Stef,” Brian remarked suddenly.
“Really?” Stef asked, raising an eyebrow, but smiling nevertheless.
“Uhu, it makes you look cute. You’re eyes get smaller, your smile a lot sweeter. I like it to see you drunk.”
“Not tonight, though,” Stef replied silently.
“No, not tonight,” Brian sighed. “I’m sorry.”
He changed the bottle of wine for the champagne and disappeared into his room. He didn’t see how Stefan rubbed away a tear.
Stefan was not a part of his story. Not now anyway. His eyes sparked when he saw him lying on his bed with closed eyes. His blond hair sprawled across the pillow, one hand on his belly, the other resting next to his body. For a moment Brian hesitated, wondering if he could use the moment to snap a quick picture. One he could put into his wallet and carry with him wherever he went. But the boy opened his eyes and the idea was forgotten.
“Hey there, did you sleep?” Brian asked. The boy shook his head. “I’ve gotten some champers, thought you mind like it instead of beer. Beer’s so cheap, you know.” He poured them two glasses, equally full. “Here you go, to us!” The boy hesitated, perhaps knowing that something was not quite as it should’ve been. That, perhaps, something was going to happen, though he didn’t know what, only that Molko was up to something and that perhaps, he wasn’t going to like it. He smiled and toasted along. He waited and would see.
“Has somebody ever told you that you have beautiful eyes?” Brian smiled innocently. There it was, the thing he had waited for. It had come quicker than he had thought. Brian sure was not one to shy away.
“No, not yet, until now,” the boy replied. “Have they said so about yours?”
“All the time,” Brian replied sadly, “though they never mean it. They’re just being polite, you know. They only want me for who I am.”
He snapped back to reality. Who was this boy to pour his heart out to anyway? He’s the boy he had never spoken to, the boy he had fallen in love with, the boy he trusted though he had never told him any secret. He felt butterflies in his chest. The champagne helped. He wanted to kiss him, to taste the lips that were moving so elegantly. He knew he was staring, but he didn’t care. If only those lips were pressed against his, to run his tongue along them, to feel their softness and fullness. The dream had been going on for too long.
Slowly he got up and sat closer to the boy.
“Can I have your glass, please,” he asked. The boy gave it to him. Brian sipped from it, then placed it aside with his own. He leaned closer, looking him in the eyes, looking for a reaction, but he saw none. There was no love to be found, no longing, no will to gaze at the stars together with him, no will to kiss. But it was too late to turn around, to change his mind. The stone had been etched a long time ago, it had stood against rain and wind and it had held. But it crumbled to pieces when their lips met.
TBC