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Bitter Pill -- Act 1, Scene 4 by Falcon Stefan opened his eyes, praying that it would be morning. But it wasn't. A deep, quiet, darkness saturated the hotel room, except for near the glass doors, where moonlight bled in from the balcony. Sighing, Stefan temporarily abandoned any hope of sleep. Instead, he uncurled his aching legs, and sat up, dangling his feet over the edge of the woefully short cot. Gingerly, he tried to rub the stiffness from his muscles. Then, once they'd recovered enough to support his weight, he stood. A breath of fresh air would do him good. But on his way to the balcony, Stefan hesitated, distracted by the bits of faint light that tiptoed across Brian's sleeping face. Unconscious, Brian looked so innocent. So gentle. Like he could never be spiteful, never be cruel. Like he could never break someone's heart. Tenderly, Stefan brushed away a strand of hair that had gotten caught on one of Brian's delicate eyelashes. "Are you dreaming of childhood, when things were simpler?" he whispered. "Are you dreaming of paradise?" Then his eyes fell on the bed where Steve lay. "Are you dreaming of him?" Bending over, Stefan touched his lips to Brian's cheek. Then he walked out onto the balcony. The night felt warm, except for an occasional breeze, rustling the palm trees far below. Gazing out over the hotel parking lot, Stefan could see the beach, white as sugar in the moonlight, and beyond it, the ocean, tossing restlessly in its sandy bed. And above him. Above him, the stars. Sparkling snowflakes that never fell. Flecks of eternal frost. Stefan smiled as he craned his neck to look up at them. If only he could find a staircase tall enough, a ladder long enough - if only he could reach their glittering embrace. Then, surely, his pain wouldn't be able to follow. "Stef?" Turning, he saw Steve standing on the balcony behind him, dressed only in a pair of denim shorts. Broad chest bare. Hair rumpled by sleep. And the muscle tone on his arms painfully obvious. Instinctively, like an animal sensing danger, Stefan began to back away. "Stef. We need to talk." Stefan kept backing up, until he bumped against the balcony rail. He didn't want to talk. He didn't want to hear what he knew he was going to hear - that it had been an interesting experiment, but, upon reflection, Steve had realized that he was definitely, utterly, completely straight. Any promises of love had been quaint delusions. "What's the point in talking? Whatever happened between us, it has to be over. It doesn't matter." "It does matter." Steve touched Stefan's face, and Stefan flinched, waiting for the killing blow. "Stef. I meant every word I said. And I still do. I love you." Stefan's world spun. "Oh god," he whispered, reeling with dizzy joy. "I love you, too." Steve seized the back of Stefan's head, yanking him into a ferocious kiss. And in that moment, Stefan realized that he could never forget, no matter how many mental games he played. Never forget the crush of Steve's lips, the scratch of Steve's chest hair against his tender, aroused nipples, the feel of Steve's fingers digging into his ass as he crushed their bodies together. Those memories would haunt him forever. Like ghostly tattoos, burned onto his skin. But there were other things he couldn't forget. Brian's face, caressed by the moonlight. The scars on Brian's wrists. The promises the three of them had made to each other. So, even though it broke his heart, he pushed Steve away. "We can't do this. You know we can't." "Why?" Steve demanded, his voice ragged with desire. "You know why." Stefan's eyes flicked toward the hotel room. "Brian." "He doesn't have to find out." Stefan shook his head. "He'll find out. Sooner or later. And, in any case, I won't lie to him. I owe him too much." "What about what you owe to yourself?" Bitter laughter started to break from Stefan's throat, and he forced himself to choke it back down, for fear of waking Brian. "What could I possibly owe to myself? What could you? Look at us, Steve - I'm a fine bass player, and you're a fine drummer, but Brian is what makes Placebo special. This dream that we're living, he gave it to us." Steve looked cynical. "Brian," he reminded, "would either be dead, or in the loony bin, without us." "Maybe. But I'm going to make damn sure that he doesn't end up dead, or in the loony bin, because of us." Stefan reached out, touching Steve' arm. "You know I'm right." A deep sigh escaped Steve, like the death rattle of some immense machine. "You're right. I'm sorry. Maybe I shouldn't have said anything. Maybe knowing just makes it harder." "No," Stefan assured. "I'm glad you told me. It hurts worse now, but it hurts sweeter, too." "I wish it didn't have to hurt at all." Again, Stefan tilted his face upward, looking at the stars. He knew that he'd finally found it - the thing that could lift him up to the heavens. And he knew, just as certainly, that he had to turn his back on it. "Maybe in our next lives." "Fuck that," Steve muttered, sounding more defeated than angry. Without another word, he went back inside. Stefan lingered on the balcony, until he'd given Steve enough time to pretend to be asleep. Then he returned to the cot. And, eventually, managed to drift off. Prev | Next Home |