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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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Chapter Five

“So,” Stefan asked, as he leaned against the counter of the club’s small bar. “Did you shag him?”

Brian gave him a withering look. “First of all, I do not ‘shag’ people. I seduce, tantalize, ravish. I lift them to the heights of ecstasy, and spin them against the sky. I leave them forever transformed.”

Stefan made an unsuccessful attempt to hide his smile. “Oh. Of course. Forgive me for thinking otherwise.”

“And sadly,” Brian admitted, “the answer is ‘no’. We kissed and groped for a little, but when I started to unbuckle his belt, he suddenly remembered that he had to be elsewhere. Took off like a bat out of hell.”

“Hmm. Not quite ready for his first homosexual experience?”

“Apparently not.” A rare look of pensiveness crossed Brian’s features, and he pushed a tiny paper umbrella out of the way as he took a long swallow of his drink. “I guess I should have expected that. He’s never done it before. He’d have to let down his guard and allow someone else to be in charge for a little - not something that comes easily, obviously.”

Brian’s words genuinely surprised Stefan. “Hell, Brian. That sounded almost like empathy. You’re not going soft on me, are you?”

“Stef, luv,” Brian taunted, with a wicked wink. “Have I ever gone soft when it mattered?”

A slight warmth infused Stefan’s skin, like the afterglow of too many forgotten caresses. Funny how Brian could still do that to him, sometimes, without even trying. Hurriedly, Stefan changed the subject. “You kind of like him, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” Brian confessed, not meeting Stefan’s eyes. “I kind of like him.”

“Well, maybe you’ll have another chance at him tonight.”

“Tonight?”

“I invited Suede to join us at the club,” Stefan explained. “You know. A chance for everyone to meet their future in-laws.”

“That’s quite a dysfunctional family.”

“And a pretty incestuous one, by all indications.”

“My favorite kind.”

They were still holding each other, laughing, when Steve returned from the bathroom. “Dear god,” he announced, gawking at them in dismay. “You two aren’t sleeping together again, are you? That never turns out well.”

“No, no,” Brian assured. “Just comparing notes on our boyfriends.”

Steve looked immensely relieved. But before he could say anything else, Stefan heard his name being called, and when he turned toward the sound, he saw Richard standing just inside the club’s entrance, waving. The other three members of Suede were there, too, dressed in varying degrees of black and looking vaguely out of place, like antisocial vampires that someone had coaxed into attending the school dance. As Richard hurried over, they followed him, although they hung back a little when he embraced Stefan.

Introductions were made. “Steve Hewitt,” Steve informed, shaking hands. “Placebo’s drummer, and token straight member.”

“Mat Osman,” Mat countered. “Suede’s bass player and token ugly member.”

Brian cackled in delight. “That’s wonderful! We need a token ugly member, Stef.”

“I don’t think Thom York is going to want to leave Radiohead,” Stefan pointed out. “And I will NOT be in a band with either Noel or Liam Gallagher. A person has to draw the line somewhere.”

“Don’t worry,” Steve consoled. “After a few more years of putting up with you two, I’m sure I’ll be worn out enough to qualify.”

Mat nodded. “That’s a feeling I can sympathize with. Come on, Steve, I’ll buy you a drink and we can look at the pretty girls. Get some action before we decay completely.”

“Absolutely.”

Together, Mat and Steve strolled to the far end of the bar. With them gone, Stefan turned his attention to Brian and Brett, who were staring at each other a little warily, like two people unsure whether they parted as lovers or merely friends. Slipping one arm around Richard’s waist, Stefan moved his other hand behind his back, and crossed his fingers, wishing Brian luck.

“Well,” Brian began at last. “You want to dance?”

Brett glanced at the club’s sparsely populated dance floor. “I don’t know. I don’t really dance.”

“I’ve seen you on stage. You dance.” Then, without giving Brett a chance to protest, Brian grabbed Brett’s hand and pulled him onto the dance floor.

Leaving only…

Cautiously, Stefan met Simon’s gaze. Although he’d extended his invitation to all of Suede, he hadn’t really expected Simon to come, thinking that the recent loss of Richard would still sting too much. But here he was. Why? Would he try to win Richard back? Or did he simply want a chance to revenge himself on his rival?

“Richard,” Simon murmured, “could I have a word with Stefan? Alone?”

Richard glanced at Stefan, and Stefan nodded. So, after pressing a goodbye kiss to Stefan’s cheek, Richard joined Mat and Steve at the far end of the bar.

A long minute of silence prevailed. Then, casually, Simon asked “Are you any good in a fight?”

Oh. That’s what this was about. Stefan studied Simon, appraising his chances. He was taller than Simon, but Simon was more solidly built, and Stefan could see the lines of Simon’s muscles crease the fabric of his black T-shirt. “I can hold my own. Why?”

Simon leaned closer. “I’m going to tell you a story, and when I’m finished, you’ll understand why I asked. And you’ll understand how it relates to Richard.”

“Okay,” Stefan agreed, still expecting a physical challenge of some sort.

“You and I are alike in a lot of ways, Stefan. Both openly gay, and both partially protected from the consequences of that by our positions in the entertainment industry. But only partially protected. You understand? Several months ago, I went to a gay bar with a friend of mine. Not even a boyfriend, just an old acquaintance from my childhood, who I wanted to buy a drink. Afterward, some people saw us coming out of the bar. They attacked us. Hit in me in the back of the head so hard that I woke up in the hospital. My companion got it a bit worse, but we were both lucky. No permanent damage.”

“My god,” Stefan gasped, horrified. “Did they--?”

“Did they know who I was?” Simon shook his head. “No. Just another faggot coming out of a gay bar. You see my point? You and Brian can prance through your world, with all the fans who identify with your sexuality, and all the journalists who think it makes a good story, and all the other celebrities who find you delightfully decadent - but there are monsters out there, who hate you for what you are. And they will find you. Sooner or later, they will find you.”

Coldness filled Stefan’s throat, like he was choking on snow. “I--”

“And, more to the point, they will find Richard. I’m hard, and I’m strong. I can protect him. Can you, Stefan?”

“I think so,” Stefan vowed. “I’ll die trying.”

“Good. Because if you don’t - if you ever hurt him, or if he ever gets hurt because of you - then we’ll talk again. And you’ll be lucky if you wake up in the hospital. You’ll be lucky if you wake up at all.”

Then Simon turned his back, and walked out of the club.

*****

Out on the club floor, Brett had completely forgotten about his claim to be incapable of dancing. Brian, dressed in a stomach baring top, and pants that hung perilously low on his hips, moved with such fluid grace that Brett couldn’t help getting lost in his partner’s moves, mimicking and matching them effortlessly. Melody, and beat, and undulation took the place of clumsy words, and as song bled into song, their bodies drew nearer, crossing the barriers left behind by their awkward parting. Brett reached out, touching Brian’s sides, trailing his fingers over sweat and bare skin. Brian rewarded him with a hungry grin. Then, before Brett quite knew what was happening, Brian’s hands were on his ass, pressing their twisting bodies even closer together. Brett could feel the hardness of Brian’s erection, rubbing against him through layers of fabric. Exciting, and oddly disturbing, to be causing that reaction in a man. And equally exciting, and disturbing, to find his own body growing hard in response.

Music and light vanished, overwhelmed by sensations of touch. Until, suddenly, Brett became aware that they were no longer even pretending to dance. Instead, he had his back pressed against the club wall, and his tongue in Brian’s mouth, while both of them tore at each other like greedy children, eager to unwrap long awaited gifts. At which point, Brian pulled back a little. “My apartment,” he mouthed, over the thundering beats. Then he tugged Brett toward the door. Dizzy with adrenalin and desire, Brett stumbled after him.

Outside the club, Brian hailed a taxi, and the familiarity of the action made Brett smile. “You don’t drive?” he inquired.

“No,” Brian admitted. “Do you?”

Brett shook his head as he held the taxi door for Brian, and then slid in beside him. “No. My dad drove a taxi for a living, and I was afraid that if I learned, he’d draft me into the family business.”

“What does your dad do now?”

“Oh, he still drives a taxi. I’ve offered to support him, but he just tells me that old habits are hard to break, and that he enjoys his work. You know how parents are. He’s got the whole inside of the cab covered with pictures of Suede.”

Brian looked away, his face hidden by shadows. “He must be very proud of you.”

“Well, I think he mostly does it to meet women. But, yeah, I guess he is proud of me.” Brett hesitated, expecting Brian to turn back toward him. But Brian just bowed his head against the taxi window, like he was praying to the night, and the city, as they slid past. “What about you?” Brett urged, hoping to disperse the sadness that seemed to have settled over his companion. “Your parents must be pretty proud of Placebo’s recent rise to fame?”

“I think my parents hate me.” Brian’s voice sounded flat and empty. “I was never what they wanted. If anything, they’re probably more ashamed of me than they ever were.”

Pain whispered through Brett like a chill wind. His father, who loved music, and his mother, the artist, had always approved of his ambitions. To grow up without that…to grow up surrounded by people who mocked and twisted his dreams…he couldn’t imagine it. And, for the first time, it occurred to Brett that maybe, despite his flippant façade, Brian did understand the price of failure, did know the rough paths of despair. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, touching Brian’s shoulder. Feeling horribly guilty about his earlier impulses to knock the ground out from under Brian’s feet. “That must be awful.”

Brian didn’t answer. But he leaned back against Brett, and let himself be held as they finished their taxi ride in silence.

However, upon entering his apartment, Brian seemed to draw courage from familiar surroundings, and the brash confidence returned to his voice. “Can I get you something to drink?” he offered. Then, without waiting for Brett’s answer, he grabbed two mugs from the cupboard, and took a bottle of champagne out of the refrigerator. Foam spilled over the sides as he poured. “There you go,” he insisted, pressing a mug into Brian’s hands.

Brett took a sip, and held it on his tongue, savoring the spiky pop of its bubbles, before swallowing. “Are you trying to get me drunk?”

“Is that what it takes?”

“I don’t know.” Brett tried to remember the last time he’d let himself come this far, to actually stand in a strange apartment, both sure and unsure about what was going to happen next. Feeling each breath with his whole body, because each breath could change his destiny. Justine? Had it really been since his first night with Justine? “It’s been a long time…”

“I’m sure it will all come back to you.” Brian lifted his own mug, and drained it with admirable speed. Then he tossed it into the sink. “Make yourself at home. I’m going to go freshen up.”

Brett watched Brian vanish into the bathroom. Then he set his mug down on the counter, and wandered out of the kitchen. Drifting through the living room, he entered Brian’s bedroom, where he found himself confronting a large bed, full length mirror, and closets overflowing with an unlikely menagerie of clothing. Brett smiled to himself as he examined the various outfits: several mini-skirts, a black T-shirt with “I’m Evil” written on it in rhinestones, multiple dresses, even a sequin-covered frock coat. Absently, Brett lifted a feather boa that had been draped over one hanger. He’d scorned Brian for dressing like this. But now, instead of ridiculous, the outfits seemed fun, playful, a natural extension of the person who’d chosen them. And, for a moment, Brett’s soul rebelled against his own collection of cautiously stylish black suits. He longed to play dress-up, to express the part of himself that wanted to glitter and shine.

“It would look good on you.”

Brett dropped the boa like it was a snake, and spun around in time to see Brian standing behind him, dressed in the same silk robe he’d worn when Brett first kissed him.

“I--” Brett protested.

Calmly, Brian crossed the room, picked up the boa, and placed it across Brett’s shoulders. “Why not?”

“I can’t look like that. No one would take us seriously.”

Brian smiled. “You think I’m going to take pictures and hand them out to the press? Come on. Just here, with just the two of us to see. What’s the harm in that?” Gently, he touched Brett’s face, understanding shining like starlight in his green eyes. “Every day, you have to be the person you think they want you to be. And I see the toll it takes on you. Please, let me create a place here, for the two of us, where you can stop being afraid. Where you can stop being alone.”

“Alright,” Brett whispered.

Together, their laughter unfolding like the petals of a blossoming flower, they experimented with a variety of combinations, until Brett stood before the full length mirror, forced to admire the results of their efforts. Pants, made of silver leather, clung to his legs and hips, creating a perfect match for the silver makeup Brian had applied to Brett’s lips and eyelashes. Brian had also rubbed silver body glitter onto Brett’s torso, and streaked his hair with it, so that he shimmered when he moved. As a final touch, a marble-sized ball, covered with rhinestones, hung from Brett’s ear on a silver chain. “You’re gorgeous,” Brian murmured.

“I know,” Brett admitted. “Thank you.” Then he turned from the mirror, and cupped Brian’s face in his hands, kissing him - delicately, slowly, with none of the roughness, or lust, or anger that had driven his earlier affections. He did feel safe here, with Brian. He felt open. He felt like maybe, possibly, he could risk everything and fall in love again. But then he remembered Justine. And Bernard.

Aching, Brett pulled away. “I can’t do this.”

“Brett,” Brian protested, refusing to let go. “If you’re not ready for the sex, then that’s fine. We can take this as slow as you want.”

Brett shook his head. “It isn’t the sex. I want that. But…” He trailed off, and then took a deep breath of air. He had to say it. He wasn’t proud of it, but he had to say it, to make Brian understand. “When I first met you, even when I first kissed you - I didn’t know you. You were just a caricature. I wanted to taste you, and I was jealous of you, and I wanted to hurt you. But after what you said in the taxi and after being with you in this room…you’re real now. And I don’t want to hurt you anymore.”

“Well, that’s good, isn’t it?”

“Yes. That’s good. But it’s also why I have to leave. Everyone I’ve ever loved, I’ve hurt. Everyone I’ve ever loved, I’ve betrayed. Justine, Bernard…”

“Bernard?” Brian cocked an eyebrow. “I though you said you’d never had a homosexual experience?”

“You don’t have to fuck someone to love them,” Brett snapped. Then he looked away. “You don’t even have to tell them.”

“Oh,” Brian answered, his voice soft with comprehension.

“I don’t mean to hurt people. I always start with the best intentions. But there’s this fire inside me, and it burns brighter than friendship, brighter than love. Eventually, everything gets consumed by it.”

Pity filled Brian’s eyes. “Would you really sacrifice them? Mat? Simon? Richard?”

“If I had to, for the sake of Suede, yes. Wouldn’t you? If Placebo depended on it?”

“Betray Steve or Stefan? No. Not for fame. Fame isn’t worth it.”

“Not to you. But it is to me.” Again, Brett tried to push past Brian, but Brian seized his hands and held on. “Let me go,” Brett hissed, struggling like a trapped animal.

“No. Not this time.”

“If I stay, I’ll poison you. I’ll drive a knife through your heart.”

“That’s a chance I’m willing to take.”

All the strength seemed to drain from Brett’s body, and he stopped fighting. Instead, he sunk to his knees, staring up at Brian, unable to believe that someone could know his inner darkness and not hate him for it. “Really?”

“Really.” Brian laughed. “Anyway, as I’m sure you’ll discover, I’m not exactly a basket of kittens, myself.”

They spent the rest of the night lying side by side on Brian’s bed, shifting from one embrace to another, whispering secrets in the darkness. Brett told Brian about Justine, about how she’d been his first love, and about how she’d left him when he couldn’t let his dream become their dream. And about Bernard, who Brett had loved in hopeless silence. In return, Brian spoke about growing up alone, ignored and eventually banished by the people who couldn’t shape him in their image. And about his twisting relationship with Stefan - the friendship that neither of them could imagine living without and the physical attraction that always came close to destroying it. On and on, they murmured their sins, and their redemptions, and their dreams, until all words had been spoken, leaving only the clarity of silence. Then, like trusting innocents, they slept.

*****

And late the next afternoon, after they kissed their reluctant goodbyes, vowing to see each other again as soon as possible, Brian returned to his bed and found the sheets covered with sparkling silver body glitter, as if a star had rested there.
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