Lyrics © 30 Seconds to Mars
Lie awake in bed at night And think about your life Do you want to be different? Try to let go of the truth The battles of your youth Cause this is just a game
Fang took another drag of his cigarette, painfully wishing it had a little more to it than nicotine. It took the edge off but even the constant battering of hammers hurt. The pounding in his head that wouldn't let up.
Kill yourself. Kill yourself. Kill yourself. Kill yourself.
Over and over again. Kill. Your. Self. Kill. Your. Self. Pound. Pound. Pound. But at least it wasn't stab. Stab. Stab. Bruises rather than open wounds.
Fang sat up, coughing deep and hard. For a moment, he was completely choked of air from the smoke in his lungs. He growled, beating a fist on his chest to force them to work a little harder. Finally. A good hard cough that shook him free from the fit. He spit id to the side and sighed heavily.
He grinned and chuckled, “Gonna have to try harder than that, Satan.” He looked at the devil, which should have been his cigarette. Only, it had vanished from sight!
Fang jolted and looked around for it, spotting it rolling on the ground. He jumped off the large AC unit he had been laying on and dove in to rescue it, “Hey, hey, hey! Don't leave me now!”
He swiped the butt off the ground and tried to nurse it back to life but in a last puff of smoke it went out. “Shit.” Fang's lighter wasn't going to flicker even a spark to try and light it.
He hung his head in defeat, looking at the smoke with disappointment, “You cold-hearted bitch.” He flicked it off to the side, useless to him now. He didn't have the money to even get a lighter. That was his last smoke. It was a shitty half used one he took off an acquaintance, but it was better than nothing.
Fang glanced over to the wall of the dingy alley he was calling home for the night. Leaned against it, was the last thing he had of value. His battered, chipped, taped together guitar. How much longer could he tweak it to sound like it was tuned before it squalled like a cat being run over by a steamroller?
He could sell it…
For next to nothing and maybe get another cigarette.
Or.
He could try to string together another band and try to find a gig. He had been kicked out of his previous one. They didn't find his stage exit in chase of a rich boy to be nearly as rewarding as Fang had. Maybe if they had been the one lured in by those cold blue eyes and hateful sneers.
Fang shivered and smiled. Now he was a true cold-hearted bitch. He couldn't believe he had met someone so vain and narcissistic yet just as self-destructive as Fang.
Did he even know what struggle was? Being shunned and forgotten by his family? Being treated like a disease? Sleeping under a lamp post because he couldn't afford a hotel? Hell no. What the fuck could be so bad about being a rich brat that he felt compelled to stoop so low and dare put his finely manicured hand into his world?
The throbbing hushed to a whisper, kill yourself.
Not yet.
It's a beautiful lie It's a perfect denial Such a beautiful lie to believe in So beautiful, beautiful, it makes me It's time to forget about the past To wash away what happened last Hide behind an empty face Don't ask too much just say Cause this is just a game
Chris swung off his sweaty grey mount and handed the hot horse off to a groom to walk him out after their heavy ride on course. That damn horse was finally making something of himself after all these years. Propelled Chris right into the podium for the day.
He glanced up at the scoreboard, unclipping his helmet and shaking his hair loose. He smirked, feeling confident with a clean round and a formidable time. All by his own power.
As predicted, his score went unchallenged. Reporters swooped in as he headed off the podium. Bar the usual talking about his ride and his horse, later came the gossip writers. Looking for more than just an honest competitor. “Continuing the Burton tradition! Do you still ride with your father, Chris?”
“No.”
“Will there be a day where we'll see you both competing in the same class?”
“Unlikely.”
“Is there a family feud between the two of you?”
Brush off the gossip. Chris was disciplined to shooting down any opportunities to sink their fangs in. Asking personal questions to rile emotions. Now, Chris was trained at shaking them off. But...Chris had also learned how to use them in his advantage. What a little slip of a lie could fabricate later.
He grinned, “Oh, there's nothing to fight about when there was never an argument to begin with.” He gave them a perfectly polite smile. Maybe the witty ones would understand that statement. There was no way Dave would misunderstand him. Chris had far surpassed his riding career long ago and was just now getting into the full stride of it.
“Does this have anything to do with the crowd you've been with? A...Fang? In a heavy metal band, isn't he? A rock fan, yourself, Chris?”
Chris snorted. Oh, this was perfect. Chris shook his head, “Not at all. Don't know anyone named that. I'd probably remember such a silly name.”
Let them chew on that. Gossip fed on lies like flies on a rotting carcass. Chris let the other questions bounce off him, heading off. He public smile faded into an empty, tired expression. So what if Fang was just an excuse to capture the media. He was just a means to piss his father off more. No way he could ignore those front line stories. Just try to pretend like he wasn't upset. Chris was boldly daring him to try and reach out to him just to lash out at him. Fang was just a tool. The sex...well...he had to keep the dumbass interested until it blew up in the media.
It's a beautiful lie It's a perfect denial Such a beautiful lie to believe in So beautiful, beautiful, it makes me Oh!
Fang stepped out of the back of the brick building, laughing at a joke from one of his new band mates. Another gig. Hardly worth the money. He split the cash and shook hands with his mates for the night. Fang was stuffing the cash in his back pocket when he looked up, feeling like he was being watched. He stopped for a moment and grinned. Across the street was one hell of a fancy-ass Lamborghini car. Silver. Leaned against it, arms crossed, eyes cold as ever, shitty little piss face, was Chris.
The bassist whistled at Chris, “Hey hotrod, you lookin’ to get mugged. Uh- Fang!” He held out a hand, wondering if Fang was really going to mug the kid as he marched across the road.
Fang grinned with a smug look, “So, you heard my siren's call and couldn't resist me?”
“I heard the sound of cats being skinned. I hate cats. Thought I'd find entertainment. Instead, all I found was your shitty excuse of a band. Can I even call it that?” Chris spat his venom. He looked disgusted at the sight of Fang in his face. If he couldn't afford hair dye and to keep up a buzz, shave it off. He looked like a dirty mop. Gross. At least he wasn't wearing those stupid colored contacts anymore. Swamp-shit green eyes. Ugh.
Fang pressed his hands against his car on either side of him, leaning in, “Shitty enough you'd blend right in as our lead bitch.” Fang shimmied his hands down Chris's sides, slipping his fingers through his loopholes and pulling him closer. He kept his eyes pinned right on his, not backing down from the hateful shit's daggers. “Bet I could make you sing real pretty.”
Chris wrinkled his nose in disgust and turned his head to the side the moment Fang leaned in for a kiss. He got a mouthful of his jaw instead. Chris wiped his face off of him, scoffing, “Ch. Please, have some fucking decency.”
Fang glanced back over his shoulder at the two band members staring back, a bit baffled. He smiled and waved them off. They reluctantly continued down the road to their car. It didn't add up how he could be with someone with Lambos and Rolex watches but could hardly afford a lighter.
Fang turned back to Chris again, scoffing back at him, “Tch. You're one to talk about decency. Chris. Birdies tell me you don't know somebody like me.” Fang tugged him closer, straddling him against his car. “Ya know, I didn't take you for a pony boy. You seem like the type that'd never get his hands dirty with horse shit.”
So he saw the tabloids. He caught wind of Chris's lies to feed the media. Chris sneered and pushed him away, “Maybe not shit like you.”
“Who the fuck do you think you are, bitch boy? Having all that money ain't enough for your ego? Thought I wouldn't find out like I'm some dumbass?” Fang scowled. He couldn't understand what he was up to. Fang was used to being an embarrassment but this was just...stupid. Claiming to not know him, yet blatantly returning to the scene. Like those dumb girls back in school that would tell the jocks that were teasing them to stop but they clearly meant the opposite because they fed on attention like vampires.
Chris rolled his eyes, “If you know what I'm using you for and you don't like it, then take your fucking hands off me or I'm calling the cops.”
Fang glared at him, not feeling satisfied with that. “Now how come you get to slander me but I'm the one that has to fuck off? You fuckin’ harpy.” He watched his nose wrinkle and his lip curl. “That's right, bitch boy. Not everyone plays your fuckin’ games. In fact, no. Fuck you. I'm not goin’ anywhere. You stepped in shit and now your gonna wear it. Let them smell your shitty little attitude.”
Fang leaned in, just a whisper away from Chris, toying with him, never letting those cold eyes have him. He was pissed off. Good. He didn't like it when he was told no. Good.
Fang worked a hand up behind Chris's neck and found it pretty ironic he didn't make a fuss when he kissed him anyway. The opposite, really. He felt Chris give back and run a hand up Fang's chest which was doing a good job to turn him on. Until he felt the little asshole finger the ribbon piercing on his neck.
Fang chuckled and leaned back, batting his hand away before he got a hold of him. Last time, he ripped a piercing out of his neck. It had been hot at the time but he still had to let it heal and get it pierced again. He still had a scar from before. He grinned, “Fuck you. You controlling little bitch. Ya know, I don't give a shit if being in some magazine is how you get off. If that's your kink, fly that freak flag. But you're not scraping me off your shoe that easily. See, being in that magazine, the stories around your mystery life or whatever the fuck you're trying to make, guess what, gives me the chance at publicity too.”
Chris snorted, “Wow, leeching off of me. Bottom feeder.”
“Damn straight. You suck me, I suck you, it's only fair.” Fang purred, grabbing his hips again. “Aren't they going to wonder what some rich boy brat is doing with some alley rat? I'll be sure to put on a show for your fans, Christofucker Bitch Boy Burton. Ohhh, for the love of our dead God, please tell me it's short for Christian.”
Chris scowled at being called Christofucker. But Christian...His frown wavered and he broke into a laugh. Even he had to admit how horribly ironic that would have been. His family wasn't even remotely religious and his activities were something the bible didn't have room for in its pages. “You're such a dumbass.”
Fang laughed with him, actually enjoying a moment where it didn't feel like he was going to call a SWAT team on him. He was actually really hot when he laughed. He looked like a human and not some viper all coiled up. Fang felt him thrust something into his chest, praying to an empty alley that it wasn't a tazer. A key fob? He looked back up at Chris who had stepped away to the passenger side of the beefed up car. Fang felt a tingle from head to toe. Holy shit!
He jumped up and ran over to the driver's side. Chucking his beat up guitar in the back, he hopped in, all grins. “Holy shit, it's like a spaceship in here. How fast can it go?”
Chris rolled his eyes, texting on his phone, “Are you twelve?” The GPS popped up with the route Chris programmed to his hotel, “How about you you find out?” Chris held his phone to his ear, making a call. He looked over to see Fang didn't even know how to start it...he sighed and pressed the button and it roared to life making Fang clap his hands like a toddler.
“Hello, I'm reporting suspicious activity spotted behind a pub.” He leaned closer to the window, looking up at the dingy neon sign, “City Pub. It looked like some kind of drug deal. Mhm, I'm leaving now. Thank you, officer.” He hung up his phone and looked over at Fang, “Well? Come on, shit stain. Are you too dumb to find the pedals?”
“Did you...call the cops?”
There was that unfaithful smile and chuckle again from Chris, “What? It's not like you can afford drugs, right?”
Fang shrugged, “Not good ones, no. But uh-”
“And you definitely have a valid driver's license like an upstanding citizen.”
Fang cleared his throat, and grabbed the wheel. He threw it into gear, pushed down the pedal, and the car lurched to life. The tires squealed as they peeled out of the little alleyway with the red and blue lights in the distance.
Fang took the hotrod for a spin, cutting corners and speeding through flashing stoplights. He'd look over and see if his reckless driving fazed Chris any. But that phone seemed more interesting than anything else. Fang huffed, “So what was the point of calling the cops? Make them think you're involved in hard shit or something?”
Chris didn't glance away from the screen, “Bored.”
Of course that wasn't the full truth. But it sounded better than the truth. He knew Fang would get sucked into his game. He was the easiest pawn to play. As if Chris thought the leech would let go of such sweet blood.
Everyone's looking at me I'm running around in circles A quiet desperation's Building higher I've got to remember this is just a game
Fang raked his fingers through Chris's hair, pushing him against the wall and pulling his lips to him harder. He purred, feeling Chris tease him with his tongue. He pulled back, feeling teeth coming next, “Ah, behave yourself, shit bag.”
Chris raised a disdainful eyebrow, looking irritated, “Have you ever even tried?”
Fang's grin doubled in size, flicking his fringe out of his eye, “Fuck no.” Fang pulled his shirt off and chucked it across the room. He leaned into Chris, sucking that sweet, bitter hatred from his lips. “But I did get you a lil’ something. Just for you.” He reached into his back pocket.
Chris flinched and scowled at whatever he rubbed against his face and glared at it. A condom. He glared at Fang like he was such a gross dumbass. Damn straight he was going to put one on. He had fucked up the first time and got too carried away. But now, Chris was master of this ship.
He hiked his chin up and grinned, “Wow, you now have the sex education of any other twelve year old. Congratulations.”
“I know, I'm in advanced placement. Just too damn smart for my own good,” Fang tickled the soft skin of Chris's neck with the lightest touch of his lip piercings.
Chris pushed Fang back, grabbing the bottom of his shirt and pulling it up and over his head. “I think you're confused what special ed means.” Chris raised his brows with a catty look on his lips. Normally, he didn't believe in rewarding someone if they did something they should have been doing already. But it was an odd sensation almost like Chris could relax. They were both on the same page about what they had going on between them in this room. Chris craved the attention and Fang needed a distraction from his failed, miserable lifestyle.
Fang's eyes glossed over Chris's body. Hardly any nicks or scars or blemishes. Healthy and fit. That sassy grin hit him right in the core. He knew what they both wanted. Fang wanted his attention, a little nobody making an impact on his life and Chris clearly needed a stress relief from his constant surveillance by his family and media. Fang growled deep and yanked off his own shirt to match. He pressed up against Chris while he undid his own belt.
Chris panted, thinking about the same, working on his own pants. He squeezed in a few remarks just as easy as breathing, “Your tattoos are so stupid.”
Cute. “Yea? I thought about getting one of your face added. Keep with the theme.”
“I'll sue you for everything you're worth.”
Fang chuckled, “I've got twenty dollars in my back pocket-” he felt his pants drop to the floor. “Whoop, guess not any more.”
Fang made one grab for Chris's dick just to test the waters. See if that was still going to get him beat with a shoe. Sure enough, Chris swatted his hand away and got shoved backwards. Pissy. Surely, he knew that just made Fang want it more, right? He stepped right behind him, following him over to the bed. He grabbed onto Chris's hips and hooked his chin over his shoulder, sliding his hard dick between those pale thighs.
Chris crept onto the bed, making a motion to crawl to the stand for the lube. Fang couldn't help himself. He grabbed Chris by the hips and tugged him back, leaning in to him hard, just skin on skin. Next to nailing a killer riff note for note, this was the most incredible sensations to bring him to life.
Chris growled, rolling his eyes. He didn't lure him into his room for snuggling. “If you're going to waste my time, then get out,” he huffed. If he wasn't playing his game, Chris wasn't interested.
Fang chuckled, tearing open the condom packet underneath Chris. “I was just thinking…”
“What a revolutionary day…” Eyeroll.
He rolled the condom on his dick between Chris's legs, “When those reporters track me down…” Fang shut Chris right up before he tried hissing at him again by grabbing his ass and smearing the little lube his had leftover between his cheeks. He gave a good prod into him, making him wince and grit his teeth rather than bitch back at him. Fang grinned, “Can I tell them what a real tight ass you are?”
Chris gripped the sheets for a moment but he fought the feeling as best he could. He scoffed loudly, “As if anyone would believe the shit out of your mouth. They'll take you as a money-grubbing loser,” he sneered.
“Yea?” Fang purred. He squeezed in another finger, rocking his hips on him. “Then you won't mind if I tell them you sucked my cock for a ten dollar bill?”
Chris wrinkled his nose in disgust, “Now you're just telling your own life story.”
Fang slowed his hand, nuzzling up to Chris's ear, “Hmmm, are you offering me ten dollars?”
“Fuck you.”
“That ain't how this works, Burton Bitch Boy.” After a quick grab of the lube, Fang reinstated his point. He sighed deeply, pushing his dick into him. He felt Chris flinch as the stud of the first piercing tugged at him. Fang sneered, leaning over Chris, ruffling his hair.
Chris grumbled and flicked his head, shooing Fang's hand away from his hair. “Mongrel.”
Fang chuckled, smacking Chris's ass and thrusting another piercing into him, now working a good third of his dick into him. “Bitch.”
Chris grunted, gritting his teeth and elbowing Fang in the ribs for the smack. He wasn't some half rate whore. If anything, he was a damn luxury for someone like Fang. “Cur.”
Fang snagged Chris's wrist and pinned it behind him, shoving his shoulders down and fucking into him harder. That got a breathy gasp out of Chris which just made Fang purr with delight. “Brat.”
Harder and faster, Fang held Chris's wrist just like the first time the siren lured him into his clutches. He was fiery and dangerous. Fang was the moth drawn to him, desiring a taste of his embers. The slap of his hips against Chris's ass, his gasp and grunt that slipped out of his parted lips blocked out everything else in Fang's mind. Holy shit. Harder. He thrust into him harder. He could hear the bed start to creak underneath them. He hung his head, feeling the fire spread. Harder.
Chris was having a hard time keeping control over himself. He was slipping from his throne, underestimating Fang's drive. He was supposed to play Chris's game. But he wasn't supposed to be good at it! He steadied himself as Fang slipped his grasp around his wrist. Oh God. He wasn't slowing. “Slow the fuck down. I'm not- ugh- I'm not a fucking broodmare.”
Even as he said it, Chris took a hold of his own dick. Godammit, he couldn't stop. The urge was too strong. The temptation hypnotized him into playing himself. He bucked his shoulders, bumping against Fang's chest. He had to fight against this. He wasn't supposed to lose his own game. “Dammit, I said-”
His voice. He heard his voice. All of these noises. He was so sure of it. He didn't hear the one noise that was almost a constant buzz. That damn voice that controlled his life since he could remember. The voice he swore was the whispers from his mother, the jeers from his brothers, the thoughts of everyone that looked at him funny, the sneers of others, and then he realized it was his own voice on repeat; kill yourself. It was quiet. Gone. Burned away. “Fuck, I can't.”
Shit. More! He had to have more! Once he thought the silence was a curse, now a blessing. All he heard was Chris snapping at him. Beautiful derogatory growling. He had to see the beautiful bastard that had silenced the monster.
Chris had just kicked Fang in the knee when a pair of heavily tatted arms closed around him like a hug!? Chris's eyes widened with panic. What the fuck!? And then anger because it wasn't a hug. Fang was turning him over. No! He was being dethroned! This wasn't his idea!
He hit the bed on his back, jolting and gasping as Fang dove right back into him. Instincts spread his legs, letting him in. Chris had never let go of his own dick, working just as hard. He hated how good it felt. He hated how he was pinned under him and yet he didn't resist. He hated losing control of himself.
Fang, for a brief moment, lost all sense of the world around him. But when he looked down, he finally slowed down, almost to a complete stop. He felt scared at first, coming face to face with cold, unyielding, hateful eyes like he was looking in a mirror. ...but that wasn't it. Then Fang recognized it. The monster. The monster that had been in Fang's mind. Chris was seeing it in the reflection of Fang's eyes. Fang knew that look. The look of someone who hated themself more than anything else.
Shit.
Shit.
Fang ducked down, hunching over Chris, closing his eyes.
Shit.
He wasn't going to let him suffer the same fate. He was a rich stubborn jackass. He didn't have demons. He wasn't dragged down by society. Demons couldn't reach the pedestals people like Chris put themselves on.
Shit.
That wasn't silence. That was the crashing of Fang's heart against his ribs. The siren. He had him. He had just woken from his song and realized he was drowning leagues below the surface of the ocean. He had won.
Fang pulled out of Chris, sighing hard and heavy. He came hard, burying his face in Chris's neck and pressing his hips down against him. He craved to thrust into him to finish but the shit made such a fuss about it last time… shit.
Chris had stayed tight and rigid for the most part since he got turned over. As Fang came, Chris relaxed again, staring at the ceiling with an empty look, catching his breath. A quiver. He had nearly given in. Fang's grip on him nearly brought him down. But, of course he won in the end. Chris always won when he knew the odds were in his favor. “If you're done already, get off of me.”
Fang snorted, shaking his head. Did he have no chill? Ever? Fang sat up, sitting back on his butt, peeling the condom off carefully with a grin. “Fast and furious. Guess which one you are.” He glanced at Chris to catch an eye roll, perhaps. He saw Chris getting up, clearly still heavily aroused. Was he just going to… “Uh...you want some help there? Ten dollars is all it takes.” He gave him a playful wink.
Chris sneered at him like he was made of steaming dog diarrhea.
“...five?”
Chris slammed the door to the bathroom shut, ending that as a “no deal”. When he came back out again moments later, he had on a pair of underwear and looked cool as a cucumber. Cooler than a cucumber, actually. He swaggered right on over to his suitcase and pulled out a tshirt, pulling it over his head. He glanced over at Fang who was wrestling with his own pants, cigarette in his mouth but not lit. “Where the hell are you even going to go?”
Fang paused for a moment, looking dumbfounded. He answered to the best of his reasoning, “Uh...out I guess?” Maybe find out where his bandmates were? This was normally the part where Chris chased him away with acid and death threats…
“You aren't taking my car,” Chris said coolly.
Fang shrugged, “I can walk, no biggie, Cinderella.”
Chris flipped the top sheet off his bed, shoving it to the floor. He pulled back the cleaner sheet and slid into bed. He didn't say anything further to Fang. He did give him an expectant look so he'd make up his mind.
Fang arched a brow. Well that...wasn't the response he expected. He looked toward the door and back at Chris who didn't look like he was going to bash his face with a shoe again. He proceeded with caution, “Or...I can stay?”
Chris rolled his eyes and turned over, shutting off the lamp light by his bed, “Just make up your mind. I have shit to do in the morning.”
Fang's pants hit the floor along with his brains. He was stunned. Was he...was he warming up? The cold-hearted witch...Fang grinned from ear to ear! He jumped into the bed, hugging Chris from behind, snuggling right up to him.
“I didn't say you could stay in my bed,” Chris snarled. He slapped Fang's hands away and kicked back at his legs. “There's a couch for dogs.”
Fang giggled at the thrashing and retreated before he lost an eye. He plopped down on the couch, feeling warm and refreshed. The bliss that followed some glorious sex. Hot damn, Chris was coming around to him!
...shit.
Fang's grin faltered, getting weighed down by the heavy revelation he had earlier. He knew that look. Hell, it was on his face many times he woke up again to trudge through another day. But Chris? Surely, he didn't know. Otherwise, he wouldn't come around someone like Fang. The kind of person that wore a neon sign that read “I'm Fucked Up”. For the tabloids. Tch. Sure. He could keep telling himself that. Keep lying. Whatever made the self-destruction hurt less.
Fang furrowed his brows and turned over, giving a sigh. He was beginning to hear the distant hum of the familiar voice coming back into his mind. All he wondered was if Chris could hear it too...
So beautiful, beautiful (Lie! Lie!) So beautiful, beautiful (Lie! Lie!) It's a beautiful lie It's a perfect denial Such a beautiful lie to believe in So beautiful, beautiful, it makes me
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