Angels Falling
folder
Singers/Bands/Musicians › Placebo
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
1
Views:
1,003
Reviews:
0
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Singers/Bands/Musicians › Placebo
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
1
Views:
1,003
Reviews:
0
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
This is purely fiction. I don't know Placebo or Kalan Porter. No money is being made from this writing.
Angels Falling
The lip-gloss makes his mouth feel awkwardly heavy and he has to fight himself to stop from scrapping the offending matter off with his teeth. A pink tongue darts from between his slightly parted lips, attempting to penetrate the thick coating and relieve the sudden dryness. The effort leaves tiny pieces of silver glitter in his mouth.
Kalan Porter pushes through the mass of disembodied limbs, some grasping, trying to stroke his over-heated flesh. Unknown hands brush his ass, unknown eyes undress him to the steady beat of the strobe lights and he tries desperately not to notice any of it. He makes his way to the bar, the blush rising in his cheeks with every awkwardly determined step. His lungs scream and, as his knuckles clench the countertop, he lets out the breath he didn't know he was holding. His teeth scrape the sparkles off his bottom lip again and he wonders why he came here.
***
The smoke comes out of his mouth in little ringlets. The music pulses through his slender body and his heart pounds to the beat of a good rock 'n' roll song. He moves, skin highlighted by the flashes of rainbow beams. White, blue, purple. They all drape across his skin before the darkness chases them away. Sweat beads glisten like jewels and the ringlets are clumsily formed by the time Molks drags his way to the bar.
A pill melts under his tongue as his fingers seep into the cheap vinyl. The ceiling collapses and he sees stars.
***
The bartender says something, but Kalan's ears feel clogged. The music is too loud, the situation too unfamiliar and the whole thing leaves his head pounding. The bartender's mouth moves again and Kalan can feel "dumbass" being engraved on the too-clear skin of his forehead. He stands, his own mouth wordlessly opening and closing, not knowing what he's supposed to be answering.
"I said, if you aren't going to order, quit taking up counter space," he says carefully, as though explaining a complex notion to a small child. "You dumb fuck."
Kalan nods stupidly, teeth aching to scrape his lips bloody. Mouth opens to order and snaps close, too uncomfortable to ask for an Alien Secretion or a Sailor's Delight in a gay bar. He scans the list, but everything sounds sexual in some way or another. He starts to walk away, planning to go home and admit his mistake from the safety of his down comforter, but a hand on his shoulder prevents him.
"This luvy and I will each have a Quick Fuck."
Kalan goes pale, ears ringing with the words "quick" and "fuck." Two shot glasses are pushed in their direction, the liquid inside displayed in three distinctly different layers. His new friend picks up one: knocking it smoothly back and placing the glass down with flourish.
"Drink up, luv." Brian gestures to Kalan's undisturbed glass, "It's supposed to be a quick fuck."
His right hand nervously grasps his left elbow, before curling around the offered drink. He drinks, the alcohol burning his throat. He coughs until his face is red, a small fist pounding on the curves of his spine. When Kalan looks up, his expression is almost triumphant.
Brian Molko raises one carefully waxed eyebrow, "You're probably too young to even be in here."
Kalan bites down on the "am not" that threatens to prove Brian's statement.
***
"Life is over-commercialized," Brian says as he fingers Kalan's lips; sparkles rub off on his fingertips. "What's your name?"
"It doesn't matter," Kalan leans in for a kiss. "I've forgotten."
"You look like an angel," Brian mutters, his hand presses against the front of Kalan's jeans.
"I'm not." Kalan refuses to meet Brian's eyes, "I think we all were once though."
Brian leans in for another kiss and their eyes clash; blue mirror against blue mirror with neither finding any truth in the reflections. Kalan drops his eyes, fumbling to fix messed clothes.
"Can we - can we not do this?"
"Luv," his tone suddenly sad, "you can walk away from almost anything."
***
Brian sits at the bar, hand on a stranger's thigh and clumsy cigarette rings coming out of his lipsticked mouth. He watches the bodies dance, young bodies with sweat trailing down sex-awakened skin. He watches, smoke rings turning to heavy clouds, and wonders when he got so old.
***
Kalan knocks frantically on a locked door. Part of his brain, the part not lulled by several Quick Fucks, insists that no one is going to get out of bed and answer the door at 4 am. But Jacob does, walking frantically towards the door, ripping it open, waiting to see some tangible evidence of tragedy. He only sees Kalan, sparkles smeared on his chin, his blue eyes wide and vacant.
He stands awkwardly, teeth scraping the last of the sparkles from his lips. When Jacob invites him in, he reaches towards him, fingers lightly scraping against the fabric of Jacob's t-shirt before dropping limply to his sides.
"Kay?"
Kalan can't answer. The lump in his throat is too big to get words around. Instead, he simply stands there, watery eyes fixed to a spot of threadbare carpet. Jacob pulls him into a tight hug, surprised when Kalan's arms wrap around him. More surprised when he puts a protective kiss somewhere on Kalan's curls.
"Whatever it is, you're okay," he repeats it over-and-over again. Somewhere after the third (or fifth) "you're okay," he wonders who he's really trying to convince. Kalan doesn't let go.
Kalan Porter pushes through the mass of disembodied limbs, some grasping, trying to stroke his over-heated flesh. Unknown hands brush his ass, unknown eyes undress him to the steady beat of the strobe lights and he tries desperately not to notice any of it. He makes his way to the bar, the blush rising in his cheeks with every awkwardly determined step. His lungs scream and, as his knuckles clench the countertop, he lets out the breath he didn't know he was holding. His teeth scrape the sparkles off his bottom lip again and he wonders why he came here.
***
The smoke comes out of his mouth in little ringlets. The music pulses through his slender body and his heart pounds to the beat of a good rock 'n' roll song. He moves, skin highlighted by the flashes of rainbow beams. White, blue, purple. They all drape across his skin before the darkness chases them away. Sweat beads glisten like jewels and the ringlets are clumsily formed by the time Molks drags his way to the bar.
A pill melts under his tongue as his fingers seep into the cheap vinyl. The ceiling collapses and he sees stars.
***
The bartender says something, but Kalan's ears feel clogged. The music is too loud, the situation too unfamiliar and the whole thing leaves his head pounding. The bartender's mouth moves again and Kalan can feel "dumbass" being engraved on the too-clear skin of his forehead. He stands, his own mouth wordlessly opening and closing, not knowing what he's supposed to be answering.
"I said, if you aren't going to order, quit taking up counter space," he says carefully, as though explaining a complex notion to a small child. "You dumb fuck."
Kalan nods stupidly, teeth aching to scrape his lips bloody. Mouth opens to order and snaps close, too uncomfortable to ask for an Alien Secretion or a Sailor's Delight in a gay bar. He scans the list, but everything sounds sexual in some way or another. He starts to walk away, planning to go home and admit his mistake from the safety of his down comforter, but a hand on his shoulder prevents him.
"This luvy and I will each have a Quick Fuck."
Kalan goes pale, ears ringing with the words "quick" and "fuck." Two shot glasses are pushed in their direction, the liquid inside displayed in three distinctly different layers. His new friend picks up one: knocking it smoothly back and placing the glass down with flourish.
"Drink up, luv." Brian gestures to Kalan's undisturbed glass, "It's supposed to be a quick fuck."
His right hand nervously grasps his left elbow, before curling around the offered drink. He drinks, the alcohol burning his throat. He coughs until his face is red, a small fist pounding on the curves of his spine. When Kalan looks up, his expression is almost triumphant.
Brian Molko raises one carefully waxed eyebrow, "You're probably too young to even be in here."
Kalan bites down on the "am not" that threatens to prove Brian's statement.
***
"Life is over-commercialized," Brian says as he fingers Kalan's lips; sparkles rub off on his fingertips. "What's your name?"
"It doesn't matter," Kalan leans in for a kiss. "I've forgotten."
"You look like an angel," Brian mutters, his hand presses against the front of Kalan's jeans.
"I'm not." Kalan refuses to meet Brian's eyes, "I think we all were once though."
Brian leans in for another kiss and their eyes clash; blue mirror against blue mirror with neither finding any truth in the reflections. Kalan drops his eyes, fumbling to fix messed clothes.
"Can we - can we not do this?"
"Luv," his tone suddenly sad, "you can walk away from almost anything."
***
Brian sits at the bar, hand on a stranger's thigh and clumsy cigarette rings coming out of his lipsticked mouth. He watches the bodies dance, young bodies with sweat trailing down sex-awakened skin. He watches, smoke rings turning to heavy clouds, and wonders when he got so old.
***
Kalan knocks frantically on a locked door. Part of his brain, the part not lulled by several Quick Fucks, insists that no one is going to get out of bed and answer the door at 4 am. But Jacob does, walking frantically towards the door, ripping it open, waiting to see some tangible evidence of tragedy. He only sees Kalan, sparkles smeared on his chin, his blue eyes wide and vacant.
He stands awkwardly, teeth scraping the last of the sparkles from his lips. When Jacob invites him in, he reaches towards him, fingers lightly scraping against the fabric of Jacob's t-shirt before dropping limply to his sides.
"Kay?"
Kalan can't answer. The lump in his throat is too big to get words around. Instead, he simply stands there, watery eyes fixed to a spot of threadbare carpet. Jacob pulls him into a tight hug, surprised when Kalan's arms wrap around him. More surprised when he puts a protective kiss somewhere on Kalan's curls.
"Whatever it is, you're okay," he repeats it over-and-over again. Somewhere after the third (or fifth) "you're okay," he wonders who he's really trying to convince. Kalan doesn't let go.