The Wiesen Fest is over, the interviews done, the cleanup just starting. And Seppo has us in the bus on our way to Vienna for a couple days before Switzerland. The bus is quiet. Everyone is taking a rest, everyone but me and Juska. We're playing cards. I find myself looking at him admiringly because Juska has done the one thing I haven't been able to, get Ville Valo into bed. And not just that, begin to work at his heart.
A month ago, I found the two of them tangled together in a Madrid hotel room. A month with that image of Ville in bed with another man . . . me silently wishing I was the one with him instead. Jealous, yeah, I'm jealous.
It's hard to be angry with Jussi-Mikko though. He's too easy to like, easy on the eyes. Nice almost to a fault. Just what they call "a really good guy." The fact that Ville chose him to be with, well, it isn't hard to understand, just hard for me to accept. I don't think anyone else knows about them yet. And I haven't been talking.
Juska's winning again. I throw down my cards and admit my defeat. He's a gracious winner though, not smug at all. "Will you play another game?" he asks.
"Minulle ei ole varaa."
Juska shrugs and takes the money on the table, slipping it in his pocket. He then turns toward the fridge and pulls out a couple of beers, handing one to me. We flip the tops and knock our tins over the table. "Kippis!" We echo each other.
Here I am toasting the winner -- the one who beat me at more than just cards.
The two of us talk for a while about the show, the crowd, the tour that is only half done. He's worried about his performance, which is always near flawless. I tell him that his keyboard playing is excellent, just as I wonder why he's so insecure. He has no reason to be. He's a good-looking guy, talented, smart. Stylish, especially in those long skirts. I'd be attracted to him if Ville wasn't such an obsession for me. I doubt that he'd have any feelings for me though. Big, brutish, I don't think I'm at all his type. No, not his type.
About an hour later, as we arrive in Vienna, his type walks up the aisle and collapses in the seat next to us. All gangly arms and legs, big green eyes. A face to die for and grin that melts at least me. Ville lights a cigarette. His deep, perfectly accented voice comes out in a puff of smoke. "Are we there yet?" he jokes.
Juska laughs, his face lighting up like some sort of fucking flower under the sun. I have no doubt that the boy is in love. What's not to love anyway? Even clearly tired, somewhat rumpled and bleary-eyed, Ville is a vision. And his presence, the part of him that's not related to his looks, well, it is somewhat like the sun. Like his name. Valo. The light that had burned me for years now.
I've never told Ville how I feel. I guess maybe because I'm afraid of rejection. But it all turns out the same anyway, doesn't it? I'm still being rejected, only silently.
The bus is slowing, and Seppo is climbing out of the front area, we must be near the hotel. Seppo tells us that we'll be staying at the Hotel Gabriel. He says that it's nice, but not too nice, which means it's just within our budget. For now, all I care is that it has a shower and a bed. The others -- Gas and Linde -- stir as we come to a stop in front of the hotel. We pile off and into the entrance of the Gabriel. Seppo makes the arrangements at the desk, then hands us our keys. And I find that things haven't changed yet -- Ville and I will be sharing a room.
That night we all decide to stay in, order room service, and turn in early. Not our usual routine, but for days we haven't had a break and everyone feels it. We are all tired beyond belief. Even before I've climbed into my bed, Ville is asleep on the other one with the lights still on.
What it means for me is that Ville's the first one up in the morning, shaking me awake, grumbling when I don't move fast enough. He wants to visit a cathedral he'd seen on the way in, the Stephansdom. A non-believer, he's still somehow attracted to these shrines of faith -- cathedrals, churches, mosques, the older the better. He likes to see them up close. I've never really asked him why. I have a feeling he doesn't really know himself.
Before I'm really awake, the two of us are walking down the sidewalk toward the immense monument. Comfortably, he threads his arm though mine. He smiles at me, flipping a stray curl back from his face. And I wonder why he wants me with him and not Juska. Maybe it's because he never has to explain himself to me. The thought stays with me as we enter the cathedral and make our way down the aisle, our footsteps echoing along with the other tourists.
Ville spends some time looking at the artwork, the stained glass, the statues. He doesn't talk. He just walks around. Stopping once at an altar, lighting a candle. To what? His disbelief? Mine? These places make me feel like an outsider. I have no idea what they do for him.
People are looking at him, watching him. Not because they can tell he's a foreigner or rock star, I'm sure, but because he catches the eye as all beauty does. Catches the eye like the incredible statues, even more because he's flesh. When we finally walk out, I'm holding his hand, leading him back into the sunlit Vienna street. A few stares follow us, but no one approaches.
The two of us spend the rest of the day walking around, eating, window shopping. Just like all good tourists. But the evening is different. We meet up with everyone else, find a club, and do what we were too tired for last night. Party.
It's a dance club. The music is loud, the place packed with sweaty people, the liquor flowing freely. But I have two left feet and so Ville's dancing with Juska. Laughing with him. I'm standing at the bar watching them through the crowd, moving with each other easily. Jealousy sneaks up on me again.
"Fucking kukka," I say, even though I'm not really that pissed at Juska.
"What?" Linde, who is beside me, asks.
"Nothing," I reply, taking another gulp of my vodka and turning to ask the bartender for more.
"Jos vesi, viina ja sauna ei auta, on tauti kuolemaksi," Linde says.
"Find me a sauna then, and I'll happily survive the night," I reply.
But of course, there are no saunas to be found. And I just stand there feeling shitty because Ville's having fun with Juska and I'm getting drunk with Linde. And Gas, well, Gas must have gone to find himself a McDonald's. Damn if he can't sense where one is in every fucking city we visit.
We've been there for what seems like forever when Ville brushes against me, almost falling against the bar. "Baarimikko!" he calls, forgetting that the bartender doesn't know Finnish. But the language doesn't matter really, he's easily ordered another drink for himself . . . and Juska, whose hand is on the small of his back. Juska leans closer, curling against him like some satisfied cat.
I just smile at the two of them, gritting my teeth. Linde is so intent on his drink that he doesn't notice them much. I find myself wishing that I'm more drunk than I am. Or that I'm anywhere else but this crowded club, watching Ville and Juska flirt.
It isn't until a couple of hours later that my wish comes true, and the four of us pile into a taxi. Lucky for us that Gas isn't with us and that Juska is small enough to practically sit on Ville's lap. Yeah, that's lucky.
We make it back to the hotel at some obscene hour. Linde stops at the front desk, he's lost his key. And he knows that even if Gas is in the room, he won't get up to let him in. That leaves me, Ville, and Juska to ride up together on the lift. Ville's facing him, cornering him, they're talking quietly, touching I guess behind Ville's long coat. I hear them laugh quietly. And even when Juska gets off on a different floor, he's still somehow on the elevator with us, because Ville's smiling to himself. His gaze is somewhere else, his fingers brushing lightly against his lower lip. While I bite mine.
He's drunk enough to stumble a little when the door to the lift opens and he steps out. I grab his arm to steady him.
"Kiitos," he mumbles as he regains his balance.
I let go, and the two of us make our way down the hall to our room. I'm steadier than he is, so I unlock the door and open it, guide him through and close the door behind me. But he stumbles again, and I suddenly have him up against a wall, holding him on his feet. His arms come around my waist and he leans away from the wall, against me. He mutters something, and I can't even tell if it's in Finnish or English.
But it doesn't matter what he said, because I suddenly feel his lips against my throat. Warm and moist with his breath. And his hands work slowly up my broad back. I feel him reach for the back of my neck, as he kisses my jaw. I'm not sure he knows what he's doing, but at that moment, I couldn't give a fuck. I reach under his long coat and grab his ass, pulling him closer, grinding my growing cock against his pelvis.
And he doesn't push me away. Doesn't complain. And this time when he speaks, I understand him. "Yes, yes . . ." His breath is coming in pants now.
Somehow I maneuver us back toward the beds. My legs give as the back of my knees hit the mattress. He tumbles on top of me. And suddenly I'm the one tangled on a bed with Ville Valo. I must be dreaming. I have to be.
Quickly, almost violently, I strip off his coat, dropping it on the floor. And he works me out of my shirt, running his hands across the hair of my chest. And it's not slow, what we do, it's frantic. More because I'm setting the pace. I'm desperately afraid he's going to realize what he's doing and stop. I want to feel him touch me, get me off before he decides it's really Juska he wants to be touching and not his big, clumsy friend Mige.
I unzip my jeans and yank out my cock. I grab his slender hand in my own and wrap it around my aching, thick dick. Together we pump wildly. I can't see his eyes, his head is bent, he's biting his lip in concentration. I want nothing more than to lean in and kiss him, but I don't. Afraid that will surely wake him up to what he's doing.
Before he's finished the job, though, he pulls his hand away. I groan, missing his touch, but then grin, as he works at his own pants, letting his cock spring free. It's hard and ready like mine. And then we're rolling together on the bed, grabbing at each other, grinding against each other. Still half-dressed, but both fully aroused. We're tugging at each other's cocks, squeezing and pumping. He pinches my nipples. I claw at the skin on his sides.
"Perkele," he whispers in my ear. His hot breath, sending me closer to the edge. "Aaah, taas, taas . . ."
And as he pleads, I grind our bodies together, again and again. Quick and rough, we thrust against each other, bringing us both closer to climax. He throws his head back, exposing his long neck. Bucking up against me. I bite at it as he cries out, "Nyt!"
And within a few breaths of each other, we come. Hard. He shakes in my arms. His face contorting in a pain, pleasure mix. God, this is beyond bliss. And he's more than beautiful.
Only moments after it's over, he's breathing deeply in my arms. Asleep. I'm the one who gets up for a towel. I clean us both up and gently arrange him on the bed. For a few stolen minutes, I lie beside him. Holding his long, thin body in my arms, resting my head against his chest where I can hear the calming beat of his heart.
There's no one I love better than Ville Valo. That thought sends a pang through me that almost brings me to tears. I move to gently kiss his face. He doesn't stir.
When I move to my own bed, it takes me hours to fall asleep. All I can think about is him, and what we've done. And that I know, somehow, that nothing between us will change.
Morning comes just as I drift off. I wake to the sound of running water in the bathroom, I turn to see the clock. It's almost mid-day. I sit up and run my hand over my face, and look toward the bathroom door when it opens.
Ville is standing there. He's wearing only his briefs. A slender, sexy mix of dark tattoos and white wet skin. His hair is dripping. Even after the shower, he looks like he always does after a night of drinking though -- hollow-eyed and exhausted.
"Kuinka voit?" I ask.
"Minulla on krapula," he answers, rubbing at his eyes.
"Nei, I would have never guessed."
"Shut up, Mige, and don't talk so loud." He rubs his forehead.
"I have aspirin. You want some?"
He nods. I get up and dig through my bag, going through the motions like nothing happened last night. I give him the pill bottle and a plastic glass from the dresser. He disappears for a second into the bathroom, then comes out and hands me back the bottle.
"Are you done in the shower?" I ask.
"Yeah," he starts to dig through his bag for clothes. I pass him on my way into the bathroom. Still, just like nothing ever happened last night.
I shower, dress, and join him back in our room. Ville manages a smile, from where he leans back against the headboard of the bed. He looks more like himself now, in his jeans and black shirt, his eyes a little less tired.
"You up for more sightseeing?" I ask.
"Valmiina."
Together we ride down the lift and again find ourselves on the sidewalks of Vienna. Two friends spending time in a foreign city, neither mentioning, not daring to . . . the things we did the night before that were more than friendly.
Because the night before, for me, was just a dream anyway.
FIN
Finnish translations:
Minulle ei ole varaa. -- I can't afford to.
Kippis! -- Cheers!
Valo -- light
kukka -- flower
Jos vesi, viina ja sauna ei auta, on tauti kuolemaksi. -- If water, vodka
and
sauna don't help then the condition is mortal. (Finnish proverb)
baarimikko -- bartender
kiitos -- thank you
perkele -- devil
taas -- again
nyt -- now
Kuinka voit? -- How are you feeling?
Minulla on krapula -- I have a hangover.
ei -- no
Valmiina. -- Ready and waiting.