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Shameless	By : FalconBertille Category: Singers/Bands/Musicians > Placebo Views: 1534 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not know the celebrity I am writing about. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

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Shameless

Chapter Two

Several months later…

Stefan sipped his champagne, relishing the fact that it was both free and being enjoyed at a record company party, which, only half a year ago, Placebo wouldn’t have been able to get into unless they’d volunteered to be waiters. Life was good. And continually getting better. It all seemed like ridiculously easy payment for running into an old schoolmate and accepting his offer to form a band.

Slowly, Stefan slid his eyes across the crowd - no longer scanning for celebrities, as he’d done for the first hour after his arrival, but straining to pick out particular faces. Steve, next to the buffet table, chatting up an unfamiliar woman. Brian, over by the sound system, arguing with the man operating it. Probably trying to convince him to put on some more lively music. Then, out of the corner of his eye, Stefan finally glimpsed it. The face he’d really been searching for. The face that had been haunting him all evening, brushing across his senses like a seductive whisper. Long hair, as gold as a summer afternoon, and eyes the color of sky, the way the sky was before mankind violated it with rockets and airplanes. Stefan’s grip tightened on the stem of his champagne glass. Again, he started to push his way through the crowd, and again, the face vanished before he could reach it.

Stefan swore under his breath. Was he dreaming? Had he drunk too much champagne? Why was the universe taunting him like this? A new song began to ebb from the hidden speakers - apparently Brian had been unsuccessful in his quest, because the notes were far from dance beats. “I see you there with a rose in your teeth,” the singer’s voice breathed. Old, and tired, and deep, like it was pushing its way up from the center of the earth. “One more thin gypsy thief…”

Someone stirred next to Stefan, and he glanced down, nearly jumping out of his skin when he saw his dream face staring up at him, so close he could reach out and caress it. The face’s owner - not exactly a boy, but not exactly a man, either - smiled up at him. As Stefan gawked, the youth closed and opened one eye, winking with such delicate precision that he seemed to be trapping a flake of stardust behind his long, gold lashes.

“I-" Stefan managed to croak, intending to introduce himself. But the young man touched a finger to Stefan’s lips, as if speech could only spoil the moment. Then, with a pronounced “come hither” look, he turned and began to walk across the room. Lust flashed up and down the length of Stefan’s body. Like a piece of space debris, caught in gravitational forces beyond its control, he followed the young stranger.

Stefan expected to be led from the party, to some deserted spot where further intimacies could be pursued. But the boy stopped beside a table. A table already occupied by an older man, with a handsome, weathered face, and hair so deeply red it was almost black. Stefan blinked. Perhaps the boy had come with a companion, to whom he now had to make excuses? However, instead of speaking, Stefan’s tempter sunk into a chair and rested his cheek on the older man’s shoulder. Still staring up at Stefan with those impossibly pure eyes.

Stefan took a step back, prepared to retreat before he could be accused of trying to steal someone else’s boyfriend. But the older man smiled, like paper curling and turning black as it burned. “Don’t mind Richard,” he instructed, running his fingers through his companion’s golden hair. “He’s a terrible flirt. I’m Simon, by the way.”

“I’m-”

“I know who you are,” Simon assured. “I’ve been watching you since you arrived.” With his foot, he pushed out one of the chairs set around the table. “Have a seat.”

Stefan hesitated. For some reason, all he could think about were his grandfather’s stories about hunting wolves. First, you went out into the forest, and tied a lamb to a tree - offered the wolf a sacrifice of innocent blood. Sensing its prey, the wolf would circle in. Prepare for what it thought would be an easy kill. Then, when it got close enough, you shot it in the back of the head. Stefan felt like he’d been snared in a similar ambush. But the trap was so unusual, and the bait was so enticing, he couldn’t resist. Nodding to Simon, Stefan sat down.

*****

Brett glanced at his watch. He hated these parties. However, the album had been dying on the charts, and he refused to be accused of running away. Never let them sense fear, or they’d tear you apart like a pack of dogs. No matter what happened, no matter what they wrote, always act like you believed in your eventual triumph - even when, in your heart, you were afraid.

Still. Two hours was enough to prove that Suede hadn’t fallen apart. Now, if he could just round up the others…

“Well,” a nasal voice announced, “at least someone in your band is going to have a homosexual experience.”

Turning his head, Brett saw the annoyingly familiar figure of Brian Molko standing beside him. Brian’s hair had grown a little longer since their last encounter, and his makeup had darkened by several shades, but he still looked beautiful, oddly untouched by the forces constantly tearing at Brett. Brett resisted the urge to throttle him. Instead, he focused on Brian’s comment. “What do you mean?”

Brian pointed toward a table where Simon and Richard sat, flanking a tall, blonde man. “I guess this means it really does take two members of Suede to satisfy one member of Placebo. Maybe I should stroll over there and even the odds.”

“I wouldn’t bother,” Brett muttered, stung by the apparent treachery of his band mates. “You’re not Simon’s type.”

“Oh?” Brian’s smile was both inviting and mocking. “Whose type am I, then?”

Mine. The thought went off like an unexpected explosion inside Brett’s head, and he twitched, afraid that he’d actually spoken it. But he hadn’t. Thank god. “You might want to go rescue your bass player,” he suggested, hoping to end his encounter with Brian. “When Simon hunts, it’s never a good thing for his prey.”

“I think you underestimate Stefan. By the end of the evening, they’ll both be wrapped around his finger like twin wedding rings.”

Again, Brian’s blind confidence annoyed Brett. He wanted to yell, to tell Brian - you’re too young, too new, you don’t understand. The only reason you’re so certain you can’t fall is because you haven’t seen the cliff. “You’re awfully sure of yourself.”

Brian tilted his head, taunting Brett with the sweep of his long, dark eyelashes. “So are you. Want to make it interesting?”

“Interesting?”

“A bet. If, tomorrow morning, Stef comes moping to me, pining after the divine pair he had sex with, then you win. On the other hand, if your boys are the ones who start trailing Stefan, then I win.”

Brett hesitated. It felt wrong. But he wanted to ram reality down Brian’s throat - wanted it badly. Wanted to watch the media’s current golden boy stumble and tarnish, just as he’d stumbled and tarnished. Of course, he didn’t know Stefan. But he knew Simon. He knew Simon really well. This wasn’t a bet he’d lose. “Alright. But what stakes? Money doesn’t mean anything to either of us.”

Brian’s grin turned wicked. “We’re both scheduled to play the Phoenix festival next month, aren’t we? If I win, then I come out during your set, and you kiss me, full on the lips. With tongue.”

“And if I win?”

Brian shrugged delicate shoulders. “Name it.”

For a few minutes, Brett sorted through the possibilities. Then he decided. The choice that got to the heart of the matter - the choice that served his passion. The choice that served his band. “If I win, then in your next five interviews, you say something nice about Suede.”

Laughing, Brian shook his head. “So it’s true what they say about the heart of Brett Anderson. Fine. But you didn’t have to win a bet to get me to say something nice about your music.”

And you didn’t have to win a bet to get me to kiss you. Again, the internal explosion. Damn! Why was he thinking these things? He must be tired. That was it. He was tired.

“So, it’s a bet?” Brian extended his hand.

Again, Brett hesitated. Simon and Richard were more than his band mates, they were his friends. They didn’t deserve to be used. Still. He wasn’t really using them. He wasn’t asking them to do anything they weren’t already doing, of their own free will. He was just making a little wager about the outcome. They’d understand. It was for the good of the band. “Bet,” he agreed, shaking Brian’s hand.

And when they looked back at the table, Simon, Richard, and Stefan were already gone.
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