Fandom: Generation Kill RPS
Rating: PG-13 for drug references
Summary: Alex and Stark are just normal people who start a hit band.
Notes: For dev_earl. This piece is totally insane. I wish I had hours and hours to flesh it out and make it more insane.
Stark is totally willing to admit that the real reason they got famous is because Lady GaGa asked Alex to be in that psychotic Paparazzi video. Analogue Concertina Legion would never have gotten off the ground. At the time they were playing shitty college bar gigs and getting Alex’s friend Gunnar to fiddle their promotional material out in a torrented copy of photoshop. But Paparazzi changed everything. Suddenly they were getting calls from Jimmy Kimmel, Ellen Degeneres, Paste Magazine, and booking agents for major venues. And by the time of New Years 2010 they were in last.fm’s top 5 artists of the year and they’re making $100K music videos instead of jamming in somebody’s Bushwick loft with a Canon HDV camera and a youtube account.
He feels like he’s shoved ten years of life in a year and a half.
“What happened, man?” he asks Alex, stoned out of his mind on Julian Casablancas’s couch in his Manhattan loft while Delta Spirit plays over the craziest speaker system he has ever seen. And Stark is positive, positive, that their bassist Owen, is talking to David Geffen like they’re old friends. The amount of money in this room could power a small state.
“Fuck if I know,” Alex says, slumping over from his sitting position so that his chin is pillowed on Stark’s stomach. Stark parts his legs so that Alex can fit his body between them. But they do know.
Stark thinks of that first moment singing in the shower at 7 AM in a Hostel in London, his graduation present from his parents. He’d stepped out of the cheap plastic stall to find Alex leaning up against a row of sinks, a towel slung over his shoulder, and the most unimpressed eyebrow ever. And somehow they’ve thrown together this crazy band, which never would’ve been possible if they hadn’t met Clare in a pub in Camden getting absolutely shitfaced off of Jaeger Bombs and Sambuca. There have been so many moments like that. Where this never would’ve been possible if the chips hadn’t landed exactly where they did.
“The homoeroticism is killing me,” Alexei Perry says as she walks by with two cocktails that she sloshes all over the floor. She seems to have lost her shoes.
“They get that a lot,” Ash says, picking out a jangly medley on somebody’s acoustic guitar. Whoever owns it, they’re not going to get it back the same.
Stark exhales a cloud of smoke and picks his head up off the couch and says, “You lost your shoes at that gig at the Bowery Ballroom in 2009.”
“You were there?” she asks.
“Yeah, man, we were all there, except,” he looks over at Ash, “for that British fucker.” Ash was too busy to go to the Handsome Furs concert that July, because he was off being a fashion model.
Ash snorts and Clare says “Oi!” as she flicks her bangs out of her eyes.
She looks at them all, flying high like dizzy drunken kites and says “Cool” in an amused tone that calms Stark down a little bit.
“Also, Ash,” Alex points out, his voice vibrating against Stark’s abdomen, “you like making out with guys to tease them.”
Ash laughs. “We should change our name to Uncontrollable Gay.”
“Speak for yourself, pretty,” Clare replies, tapping Ash’s knee right through the hole in his absolutely destroyed designer jeans.
“Shit, that can be our next album,” Stark says, ignoring her.
She looks heavenward. “I was a serious musician once.”
Alex props his head up on his arm, the band of his strapwatch poking Stark right in the ribs. “I think the HRC and GLAAD would probably lambast us to the press.”
“Lambast, lambast, lambast,” Stark repeats as he tries to count the flecks of darker blue in Alex’s eyes, “that’s a good word.”
The thing is, they may be the band of uncontrollable gay, but Alex and Stark have never done anything. They maybe never will. But it is always there lying on the table between them. When they’re on stage, sharing a mike, or doing photoshoots, or interviewing with every talk radio host in the country. It has been there ever since Stark first walked out of that shower.
Ash Stymest is a London based model who is the drummer in a band of all models called the mannequins. They’re terrible but Ash is a fine drummer.
Clare Szembek is the former vocalist and keyboardist of Captain
Owen Davies is the former bassist for A Northern Chorus