Love Me Not

//Authors note: [Yet another relevant, but not really title…]

Sadly, I am stupidly late in my buying/watching of Sid and Nancy [loved it, hated the actor who played Johnny, I found the real him to be more childlike in appearance way back when] and I ended up crying because Sid didn’t get the FUCK off his ass and drag it back to Johnny. Well I wasn’t exactly thinking that while I was crying, but close enough. I mean, especially the bits where Sid was watching the tele and John was talking about PiL…and then when John was in the bar watching Sid fail. HATE. ANGST. ANGUISH! So it got me thinking about a fanfiction that took place much after Sid’s death and as nobody has done it yet; bonus. Well I figure I’ve rambled long enough, without further ado, Le Cheshire Kink presents her latest work to all you Slashy babes! [Can you tell it’s three in the morning and I’m awake on energy shots and angst punk?]
Quite obviously the business in italics are the flash of backs. //

Johnny didn’t want to be here.

Here was where he had to sit, put his best face forward [which admittedly wasn’t all that ‘best’] and pretend like he was still the same conceited ass he’d been way back when. Because that’s what the fans wanted, wasn’t it?

It’s not what he wanted…but since when did he ever matter? The fans didn’t care how he felt, all they cared for was what he did, what he portrayed and what he screamed into a microphone for their sweating, screaming enjoyment.

Most of all, he didn’t want the constant questions; the curiosity that never failed to come up. What was the subject of said questions? Do you even need to ask?

Sid Vicious.

Johnny’s Sidney. His dear, delightful, delicious, dead Sidney.

He sighed, catching a droplet of water as it escaped his lips and ran down his chin, all he could do was wait for the inevitable and maybe when it came, lose his temper and storm off. [Apparently his fans liked that trick quite a bit].

Sid giggled, the laugh so contagious that Johnny couldn’t help but crack a smile; albeit a very thin, somewhat bitter one.

“Play with me?” The boy asked, a pleading glimmer in the depths of his dark gaze. He wrapped his arms around Johnny’s waist and nuzzled his nose against his neck; snuffling like a friendly little puppy.

“Play with Sidney?” Johnny repeated, tugging gently at Sid’s greasy spikes as the bassist nodded, “Well doesn’t that just sound grand...”

“And what about Sid Vicious?”

Johnny exhaled loudly and rolled his eyes , looking as though the interview was some great chore he wasn’t prepared to do.

“What about him?” Johnny replied, always the same words, over and over, “Sid was a useless cunt who couldn’t play to save his life. He’s dead now, let him be.”

His voice was always so final that only the noisiest reporter dared to push forward.

Johnny groaned softly as Sid licked at his navel, pushing his head down in a silent encouragement. It was always so wonderful to be like this, as though Nancy never existed. It would never last, that Johnny could count on; happy endings were bullshit anyway. The best he could hope for was a few days with Sidney spent on some filthy mattress before the boy wandered back to the [new] love of his life.

It burned Johnny to watch…

“But you two were close friends?”

“That was thirteen years ago.”

The first time Johnny had seen Sid naked was probably the hardest he’d laughed in his entire life, he’d had to sit down or risk crashing to the floor face first.

“Sid-a-ney” He wheezed, after calming down sufficiently, “You’re so…” He choked back another wave of laughter before Sid’s face could get any redder. “Oh, don’t look that way, you silly cunt.”

He stroked Sid’s cheek and placed a gentle kiss on the other’s lips, assuring him that he hadn’t meant to laugh and that he loved him so very much.

So very much indeed…

“Do you miss him?”

Johnny paused at this question, taken aback. Nobody had ever bothered to ask him that before. More interested in the idea than the reality, he supposed. Sid Vicious had been a ‘fabulous disaster’ with a drugged out cunt for a girlfriend, they’d only seen that part of him, the part that had jumped around on stage like a lunatic, the part that had strut about with his scars in plain view, the part that had often excluded Johnny.

He quickly shook his head, regain his calculated manner before the reporter could see through his defenses.

“It doesn’t matter, Sid is gone, end of story. He decided to fuck himself over-oh sorry, bad word right?- and he paid for it. I’m still alive and I’m all that matters.”

”S-sid” Johnny gasped, pressing his overheated face into the sheets, the scent of spilled vodka drifting into his senses. “Oh, Sidney…”

He began to pant as Sid grinned foolishly and gripped his hips; using the leverage to speed up. The ancient springs of the mattress creaked in protest at the two as the writhed and ground against each other atop it.

“Johnny…” Sid whimpered, pressing adoring kisses along his back, “Johnny I love you.”
Suddenly, as it seemed, Nancy-what’s-her-name, didn’t matter in Sid’s eyes anymore, there was only room for one person, and for now Johnny occupied it.

“I love you too…”

Johnny had long since tired of the interview, but the next question sparked a deep seeded fury in his mind.

“Do you think Nancy Spungen is to blame for Sid Vicious’ death?”

A stream of obscenities were his only statement as Johnny kicked over the table holding his water and stormed off; leaving the cheap suited [now wet] interviewer to gasp and blink.

”I love you Johnny.”

The words tormented him. Plagued him whenever Sid’s ghost felt things had gotten to quiet. Reminded Johnny just how badly he really missed him.

“I love you so much.”