ALEEEEEEX🚷

Bam first noticed it some time in 2001, back when he had paid the band generously to perform a few of his favourite songs for some premiere and invited them to spend a few days at Bam's.

Of course, he'd always liked the way that Ville looked.

From that very first moment on the plane, the magazine in his hands, held all throughout... there had been no doubt about it.

But, beyond that.. When the calls and letters and the endless messages to managers had finally, finally culminated in Bam's first meeting with Ville -

When he'd stood in front of the singer who wrapped men and women alike around his finger with a pretense of effortless charm, only a subdued, timid little ghost of a man could be found in his place.

Who could have guessed that the flirtatious little rock star would be flushing at Bam's casual praise, hiding underneath his curtain of hair as if his life depended on it?

At the time, Bam hadn't paid it much mind.

After all, all rockstars put up facades - Bam was smart enough to get that -, and hell, god knew what the management had drilled into the singer's head to make him seem all charming and humble and sweet, what weird tactics those people were taught.

Bam thought of the prostitutes he'd sometimes pick up, then.

He knew their script by heart: the pretense of vulnerability, of need. The act that Bam could be their saviour when really, he was just a horny kid with too much money and a girlfriend at home.

So he kept his distance, and he played the role of the generous American fan, and everyone got what they wanted.

Ville got the money, the publicity of being Bam's latest little fixation, and Bam got a pretty mascot who was paid too much to deny him a few friendly interactions every now and then- or to reject Bam's drunken groping .

Still, the question lingered, even if silently: When would Ville Valo - and with him, his precious band- end up forgotten amongst Bam's broken action figures and half-eaten snickers bars?

But then - on that strange night, when Bam had been too drunk to walk straight, when he'd been groping Ville right there, on the stage, as everyone watched...

Better even than Ville's adorable, shameful expression, Bam remembered lying in bed drunk off his head, his arm thrown over some chick he barely knew.

And he remembered hearing the creak of the door, and watching the moonlight spill onto the floor, and then, from the corner of his periphery, clear as day -

Ville, with the typical lanky frame, hair washed now, sleek body clothed in soft cotton and an oversized band shirt, peeking into the room.

Bam had shut his eyes, held his breath.

Since when did Ville check on him like a mother sick with worry?

As quickly as it had begun, it was over.

As the quiet shut of the door sounded, Bam's inebriated mind was plagued with thoughts.

What the hell?

Only moments later, he'd fallen asleep, the thought lost, but a seed had been planted.

That had been the beginning.

Time had passed, and Bam had watched now - he'd really paid attention.

When had Ville begun glancing in Bam's direction at every joke, at every statement, like a child desperate for approval?

When had Ville begun leaning into Bam's dismissive touch, into his presence,

like a flower in the sun?

So he invited Ville to his place more often, watched as Ape and Phil fawned over him - What a kind, polite young man - and observed how nicely he chewed his food and how, yes, everyone thought that Ville Valo was perfect.

But most of all, he observed those small moments, when they were alone -

When Ville would follow Bam to his bedroom door quietly, like a puppy dog, only stumbling awkwardly towards his own guest room when Bam sent him a questioning glance, or the way that his eyes would light up when Bam remembered some stupid piece of lyrics from one of his songs.

Then, the postcards and letters and demo tapes of rare recordings began to arrive.

Stupid, silly postcards with Jack Skellington and art and - for some reason, Moomin.

The inside was adorned with Ville's curved, disjointed handwriting - awkward, unnatural sentences, as if Ville had phrases and rephrased them a thousand times.

Bam had sat in his office as he had read over the curt updates on Ville's life, intercepted with nosy questions about Bam's work, about skating, about.. Bam himself, he soon realised.

Ville, in his own strange, nervous way, was trying to know Bam.

Bam began responding whenever he had the time, began watching the movies Ville mentioned and listening to the bands he liked and even attempting (without much success) to read his weird thriller books, and every time, when the postman brought the letters again a week later, he got to lean back with amusement and imagine Ville's delight, his sweet, gap toothed smile whilst writing those letters, sharing more and more and more.

Ville was truly a mystery to him.

This man could have anyone he wanted.

When he walked down the street, men and women stopped in their tracks.

Yet, he was like those excitable little boys at the skatepark near Bam's house, who seemed to see him as a kind of god, fighting over who got to show Bam their tricks, and clinging to his every word.

He was like.. Bam was torn from his thoughts at a soft sound -

Mittens, his pet kitten, had crawled onto his lap.

When he stroked her soft fur, she purred and mewled, leaning into the touch as if her life depended on it, even whilst having acted so arrogant all day long -

That was it.

That was Ville. He was just like the tiny little street cats Bam fed, letting down his guard carelessly in his desperation for love, following the first person who fed him without kicking him.

And Ville was beautiful - probably the most beautiful thing Bam had ever seen, - and he talked just enough to be enticing, but not enough to be annoying, and he looked at Bam like he was the sun, and he was sweet and smart and everything that Bam wanted.

He should have been perfect. Bam should have been delighted.

What was the issue, then?

Bam didn't do love. Bam didn't do relationships.

Bam didn't do whatever the fuck little romantic fantasies Ville had projected onto him - cuddling on the couch and writing love letters and tending to the garden together.

Bam only did possession.

Something dark stirred in his mind, then.

Ville wanted to be his pet?

He could get that.

-

It had been easy, almost too easy, to get Ville drunk, Bam noted as he watched the introverted young man sip at yet another drink, shoulders hunched and dark bags beneath his eyes.

The singer had been working himself into insanity with the planned album, writing song after song only to discard them all and start anew, snapping at anyone who dared to come close.

At anyone but Bam.

It really was addictive, the way Ville's entire being softened beneath the luminiscent lights when Bam stepped to the bar, ordering a beer for himself.

The way he would bite at his lips and hide underneath his hair like a blushing school girl, adjusting the beanie and the gloves that Bam had gifted him some time ago.

"Hey"

Initially, Bam had thought that there was a strange dissonance between the baritone voice and the man's appearance and personality.

Now, he felt that no other voice could suit Ville better, could make him any more the beloved melancholy poet.

Now, he'd spent many nights imagining how that voice might give way to moans and gasps and whimpers, and found that they would make a melody much more beautiful than any of Ville's elaborate songs.

He sat beside Ville, watched as he grew more inebriated, as he began to lean his head on his hands, voice slurred when he was trying to respond to Bam's meaningless small talk.

Really, Bam didn't give a fuck about the conversation.

He just needed Ville to loosen up.

Bam didn't know how long had passed when Ville rose on shaky legs, steadying himself on the counter.

"Gotta go sleep."

The words, really just a murmured mess, brought a certain glint to Bam's eyes.

Finally.

"Yeah, you know what? Me too."

He wasn't even sure Ville had heard him as they made their way through the crowd of bodies.

Up the stairs, and towards Bam's bedroom.

Usually, this was when Ville awkwardly responded to Bam's goodbyes, before walking to the third bedroom down the hall.

Tonight, however, Bam glanced back at the man, door wide open, a lazy smile graced his features.

"Come in."

Ville looked at him, and Bam was certain that, in some numbed part of his brain, he was already running away.

"Oh."

The singer's eyes fell to the floor.

"Okay. Sure."

By the time Ville seemed to feel some sense of confusion, Bam had already turned the lock, key heavy in his pocket.

His speech was a slurred mess.

"Bam?" When he tried to turn, he only succeeded in stumbling against the wooden dresser.

Gazing at Ville, on Bam's bedroom floor, body weighed down - he wasn't even making effort to rise - Bam felt something in him snap.

He felt his teeth grit, his own breathing get heavy and - fuck. He was getting hard. He was really getting hard at the mere sight of his pathetic, helpless supposed best friend.

His best friend... He had sat by and watched with satisfaction as his best friend had drunk himself into oblivion, and now...

"You're so fucking pathetic, Willa."

His hand had found its way onto the older man's scalp, throwing the beanie to the side, pulling at the silky hair revealed to him.

His adressant could only look at him with teary eyes, the words registering slowly, sinking through his inebriation.

"What?"

Ville's eyes were big, his lips trembling now.

He was terrified, Bam realised, and he'd never seem him afraid before.

He should have felt guilty at that. He should have let go of Ville, unlocked the door.

But he didn't.

He'd never felt more alive.

A small sniff sounded.

Ville was crying.

Bam's pupils grew.

He certainly hadn't expected this to be so easy.

When Bam's fingers wrapped around the fragile wrist, he saw Ville's head snap up, rubbing at his nose with his sleeves like a child as his sobs quieted.

Then, Bam was dragging him towards that bed, adorned with Ville's posters on all walls.

Ville stumbled after him, half crawling, half walking, even as he sobbed.

"Bam? I don't-"

"Shut the fuck up."

Bam had released him, Ville falling forward again as Bam let himself drop onto the bed.

For a moment, he appraised Ville.

The usual band shirt, jeans and scarf.

That scarf...

Bam smiled, before he hugged at it almost experimentally, watching as Ville was left with no choice but to follow.

It was almost like a leash.

He tugged again, stronger now, watching in amazement as Ville fell forward.

The singer's hands shot up to his neck, futile attempts to pull the scarf from Bam's grasp.

"Bam, what...?"

His movements were sluggish, his voice slurred.

He had no real chance of resisting.

"I'm paying attention to you."

Bam leaned back on his hands, his gaze heavy.

"Isn't that what you've been begging for, all along?"

How could Ville's eyes grow any wider?

"No, I-" Ville's hands gripped the carpet beneath his feet. "It's just-"

Bam's voice was harsh now, cruel.

"It's just what, Willa? It's just the fact that you're a pathetic little thing, begging for my love?"

Then, his hands curled around the end of Ville's scarf again.

"You're begging to be my pet. And pets get put on leashes."

The skater felt his own arousal clearly now, that familiar warmth.

He felt, with it, something dark and vicious and beautiful stir.

Noble, brilliant Ville was sobbing, and he was kneeling at Bam's feet, and it was the most arousing sight Bam had ever seen.

"No-" his voice broke, "I just.. wanted to be loved."

The singer's voice had grown to a mere whisper.

Bam laughed.

"And you thought that I was the right person for that?"

His fingers had found it's way into Ville's hair again, yanking his head back.

"You thought that I loved you?"

Ville shook his head furiously, desperately, tears falling from emerald eyes.

"No - I mean, yes..

I-"

Their eyes locked for a split second, before the singer's gaze fell to the floor.

"I just.. love you."

Ville could barely choke the words out, his head in his hands now.

God, it was so fucking... adorable.

So pathetic.

"You think you love me."

Bam's grin was cutting and cruel as his voice.

Ville glanced up.

"I know I love you, Bam."

Suddenly, Bam felt his head against his leg.

Ville was rubbing his head against Bam like, leaving wet spots where his tears fell.

"Please, please. If you just... let me show you." His hands gripped tightly at Bam.

"I'll show you. I'll show you that you're the one for me."

Bam was drunk on - what?

Power? Lust?

"Look at you, Willa. The dignified, hard-working rockstar, begging at my feet to 'prove your love'... To whore yourself out for a bit of attention."

Ville's head shot up.

"Because that's what you mean, isn't it? You wanna suck my cock to make me love you."

At that, he furrowed his brows.

"That's.. really, really sad."

"No, I didn't mean-" but Ville was interrupted.

"Yes you did, Willa." He reached for his belt.

"But it's okay. I'm a nice enough person to give you a chance."

Bam's baggy trousers fell open to reveal his hardened member.

After all, he had been planning this.

"So, go on. Show me."

When Ville hesitated, a rough tug at his shoulder brought him closer.

His crying had halted, Bam noted, as Ville fluttered his lashes.

"I-" He gulped. "Bam, I've never done this before."

Bam knew that Ville had had a girlfriend for quite some time, so that obviously wasn't it -although, knowing Ville, Bam highly doubted how exciting that could possibly have been -

But.. had he really never been with man before?

At the thought, a strange sensation overcame him.

A certain childlike delight.

Ville was all his to ruin, to break, to corrupt.

Yet, he sighed in mock exasperation.

"What an honour. Fine, I'll show you."

Bam placed two of his fingers against Ville's soft lips, caressing them, before he spoke the demand.

"Open your mouth for me."

Ville obeyed quickly, Bam realised, as he felt them sink into the velvet heat of Ville's mouth.

Instinctively, Ville's tongue was darting out, exploring the foreign object.

"Not that hard, is it?"

Ville was sucking on his fingers, cheeks hollowed out the slightest bit and face bright red, and it was robbing Bam of all patience.

After removing his fingers, a string of saliva following, Bam instructed.

"You just don't bite, you use your tongue and-" Bam lifted Ville's head, "you look at me."

His hand patted Ville's face.

"You're a smart boy. You'll figure it out."

Forcefully, he was guiding Ville against his length, until the older man's hot, shuddering breaths were falling against Bam.

Ville hesitated for a moment, hiding behind his hair, before he flicked his tongue out, brushing experimentally against the tip.

Bam felt his breath catch, his body respond.

He rewarded him with a groan, yanking his head forward until the man's lips fell open once more, allowing Bam's hardness to slip past them.

Finally, Ville's mouth closed around him, slow and hesitant, tongue exploring, tasting.

He wasn't seeming to get the memo of moving, Bam thought as his hand found Ville's scalp, guiding Ville firmly.

He watched as Ville's eyes watered, as he gagged slightly, but didn't pull away.

After the first few times, Ville got the drift, sucking on Bam's cock like a starving men, eyes fluttering and cheeks flushing at Bam's grunted approval.

Bam felt his straining member with every thrust into Ville's mouth, felt his throat working diligently.

Ville was so good at this, so natural. Like he was born for it.

His climax was near, that heat in his stomach building every time he looked at poor, defiled Ville on the ground, big emerald eyes, hopeful and afraid at once, swollen with tears, lashes clustered and lips slicked with Bam's precome and his own saliva.

Bam's was low, heavy.

"Look at that, Willa. You really needed this, didn't you? You're so desperate for my cock."

Ville nodded slightly with a full mouth, tears spilling down his reddened cheeks.

"You want me to come in your mouth? You gonna swallow every last drop like a good little whore?"

Ville was senseless, nodding along frantically to anything Bam said, muffled sobs escaping his strained lips.

"Then take it, Willa. Take what I give you."

With that, Bam felt his body convulse , exploding into Ville's tight, shuddering throat.

He drank that sight in gleefully, Ville swallowing obediently, licking the last bits off the tip.

This was what Ville really was, beneath the glamour and pretense and barriers.

Just a desperate, lovesick pet that would take whatever Bam gave him without complaint, tail wagging.

He pulled Ville back with a sound, even as Ville made a strange, whiny noise at the loss.

"You did so good, Willa."

The addressed man shut his dazed eyes at that, leaning happily into Bam's strokes against his hair.

"I made you a compliment." Bam's hand stopped. "Say thank you."

Then, a broken, reedy thing of a voice sounded.

"Thank - Thank you."

At that, a smile split Bam's face.

He wiped the corner of Ville's mouth.

"You can be such a sweet thing when you try."

A mock-observazion, thinly veiling condescencion.

"But you only try for me, don't you?"

Ville nodded frantically, eyes glazed over.

"Yes. Only for you."

So soft.. so vulnerable.

"But, you know Willa... This doesn't prove anything."

Watching as Ville's head snapped up, as his eyes watered again - Bam felt like he was a child, unpacking gifts on Christmas eve.

Ville was everything he had wished for and more.

"Anyone can give me a blowjob. There's not much love needed for that."

With each word, Ville's eyes grew in size, that haunting sadness evident in them.

When it sounded, his voice was broken, reedy, pathetic.

"Please-"

His hands gripped Bam's trousers desperately "Please, Bam." He was rubbing snot from his nose with his sleeves like a little child, getting it all over Bam's jeans.

There was still a mess on his chin.

Yet, he kept choking the words out "I'll do anything, anything."

Bam only raised a brow.

"Anything?"

Ville's eyes sparkled with hope.

"Anything."

Shit. He was perfect.

"Get on the bed."

Obediently, Ville pulled himself to his feet, before, with a nervous glance at Bam, lying down on his back, hands crossed on his stomach as if he was going to sleep.

His whole lanky body trembled beneath Bam's gaze, and he flinched when Bam bit out laughter.

"You're not at the doctor's, you know..."

Fear glinted in Ville's eyes, his lips trembling with shame, much like a child's.

The fear, the shame of having disappointed Bam.

"So fucking stupid. I have to teach you everything."

Bam was muttering, even as he leaned down, roughly tugging the shirt from Ville's frame.

And - god, beneath the fabric, Ville was so.. small. So breakable.

Fair skin pulled so taut over those delicate ribs, rising with every tiny movement, every breath... like a fragile baby bird.

As surprising as it might have been - this was Bam's first time seeing Ville shirtless, without it being through some album cover or stupid video.

Every time Bam had dragged Ville to the pool, the singer had insisted on wearing his shirt, arms wrapped tightly around his frame as if to protect his body from Bam's attention.

Didn't he carelessly undress for endless live shows, delighting in the crowd's waves of excitement?

Bam's finger traced the shared pattern on Ville's lower stomach, before he made his way to Ville's chest, touch ghosting over his small nipples.

When Bam took one hardened bud between his fingers, Ville's gasps giving way to a high, breathy sound, he realised that Ville's hips had been bucking up against nothing, small, needy sounds falling from his lips.

"So sensitive..."

Ville's eyes were shut, his lips parted.

Only when Bam twisted the small, rosey bud in his grasp did they fall open.

Again, that broken little moan, like it was escaping Ville against his will.

"Bam?"

Silence.

Just the shuffle of clothing could be heard as Bam pulled Ville's jeans down, with them, his boxers.

Then, they were tossed into the corner, and-

There, in his bed, beneath the watchful gaze of his own posters, Ville lay, revealed to Bam completely.

How many times had Bam envisioned this very scene, jerked off to it?

How many times had he wondered about that slim, almost girly body beneath the layers upon layers of clothing?

When he looked up, Ville's face was bright red, turned against the pillow as his hands nervously gripped the sheets.

"Get on your hands and knees."

Ville lifted his head, confusion written across his features.

"What?.."

Bam's voice was dark.

"You heard me."

His hand stroked Ville's cheek, almost gently.

"Don't you wanna please me?"

Emerald eyes peered at him through a mess of hair as rosy lips parted.

"Okay."

Ville's voice was quiet and soft, ashamed.

The mattress dipped as Ville obeyed with awkward, unpracticed movements.

Although it was obvious that Ville's limbs were weighed down with the liquor's impact - for all his bubbling, flirtatious promises, he was painfully inexperienced.