Chapter Text
“I refuse.”
“Alastor, you know what the sales of your latest album have been like. You don’t have a choice.”
“Of course I do. I’ll liquidate my assets and buy a bookshop or something and live the rest of my days as a has been, recognized fleetingly by those who appreciated me in my prime.”
Rosie snorted, rolling her eyes. “You’re thirty-four.”
“So?”
“Look, touring with Angel Dust will be a great boost for your career. It’s amazing exposure to an untapped well of possible fans.” Rosie tapped a finely manicured nail against the contract, fluorescent sticky tabs attached where Alastor would need to sign and initial. “He’s not that bad, okay? I’ve worked with him before. Despite what the papers say he’s actually quite talented and very driven. His career speaks to that.”
“The man has a song titled Glitter and Cocaine. He just did a stint in rehab last year.”
“Which means he’s on even better behavior than usual.”
Alastor sneered, “Why was I even asked? Our musical styles completely clash!”
“You need to branch out your interests, you’d be surprised at the crossover appeal.”
He gave an unimpressed look and she rolled her eyes again.
“If you spent any time at all on the internet, you’d know that he dropped an EP of vintage inspired covers of his more popular songs a few months ago. They went viral and there’s been a spike in interest for popular modern music with a vintage spin which has led to a spike in interest for vintage music as a whole. The execs think having you open for his tour will bridge the gap even more.”
“The gap? It’s more of a gaping chasm.” Picking up one of the magazines Rosie had piled next to the contract, he slapped the back of his hand against the cover where the singer was posed, mouth open and tongue out lewdly with hands bedecked in an absurd amount of rings cupping his cheeks and tangled in the blonde waves of his hair. His makeup was heavy, eyes darkly lined and shadowed which only drew more attention to the fact that one was blue and the other green – though he was sure editing had something to do with the vibrancy of the irises.
His lip curled into a grimace.
“I sing swing, jazz, hell I’ve even dabbled in Motown when the fancy strikes but you know how I feel about this… this electronic bubblegum pop monstrosity people are calling music nowadays! It’s autotuned noise!”
“Noise that sells a hundred times better than your music does,” Rosie replied with no small amount of condescension to her voice. “His cover versions were good, even if you don’t like the originals I think you’d actually like the new versions.”
Scoffing, Alastor dropped the magazine to the table, absently pushing the others aside to reveal more with the star on the cover. “Something tells me a big band sound won’t elevate lyrics about snorting cocaine and having unprotected sex with strangers… wasn’t he arrested during his last tour?”
“All the charges were dropped,” Rosie replied blithely. “Look, for all of his scandals, Angel Dust fills stadiums while you’re barely holding down casino ballrooms. He’s a certifiable star and this is not an opportunity to miss out on.”
Alastor scowled down at a magazine as it was revealed, a gossip rag with loud yellow lettering smattered across the cover. IS LOVE HIS NEW DRUG? – Out of rehab but back to his same old tricks, will this pop star ever settle down?
Paparazzi photos scattered across the backdrop, showing the titular pop star on the arm of several different men through the previous years of his career as well as a few since his stint in rehab the year prior, none of whom Alastor could name despite recognizing them as other somewhat mainstream musicians. Most of them were under the same label if he wasn’t mistaken.
Rosie sighed, finally folding her arms over her chest and leveling him with a stern expression. “Alastor. I have been your manager for close to a decade at this point. Have I ever even shown you a contract that I don’t think would serve you well? Let alone demand that you sign it?”
Frowning petulantly, he huffed, sitting back in his chair with his own arms crossed. “…No.”
She sighed, shaking her head slowly before nodding at the contract. “The executives themselves asked for you, that’s a big deal. It’s a two month tour, please at least consider it.”
--
“I can’t believe I’m doing this.”
“So you’ve said, cara de verga. All through the two weeks of rehearsals. And the entire six hour flight. At this point, I think you’re just saying it to say it. Hell, you haven’t even met the guy, you might actually like him.”
Grimacing, he looked away from the passing scenery and back to Vaggie, his personal assistant. She had pulled her long, dark hair back into a high ponytail and out of her face, giving her a clear view of the phone in her hands. Her chestnut skin and hooked nose gave an intimidating edge to her patented resting bitch face, increased in ferocity by several hours on a plane, but after years of working together Alastor was undaunted.
“Angel Dust? The pop star named after drugs, who was just in rehab for severe drug use, arrested for not only assaulting an ex boyfriend’s new partner but also several paparazzi, found on the cover of dozens of tabloids for his sexual exploits and short lived torrid affairs… yes, I’m sure we’ll get on like a house on fire.”
Rolling her eyes and tapping at her phone, Vaggie smirked. “Well, when you put it that way, he might actually get that stick out of your ass and convince you to have some fun for once in your life.”
“Fun!” Alastor laughed drily.
“Yes, fun. I’m sure you’ve heard of it, cabrón. It’s what the rest of us normal people like to get up to when we’re not working instead of shoving our faces in a book. It’s a two month tour, I’m sure you’ll find something to talk about trapped in a bus together.”
Alastor groaned at the prospect, rolling his gaze back out the window. “We don’t have to get on the bus until after tomorrow’s performance, right?”
“Right. They’ve got you set up at a Hilton under a false name.”
“They didn’t put me in-“
“No suite. Just a normal hotel room. As usual.” Vaggie finally looked up from her phone. “Do you think so little of me?”
Sighing, Alastor thumped his forehead against the window. “I’m rethinking most of the life choices that have led me here, don’t take it personally.”
After a few more minutes, the hired car pulled into the entryway of the hotel and Alastor donned his sunglasses. He wasn’t a large enough name to draw any real attention, but he appreciated his privacy and did what he could to avoid the unlikely fan encounters altogether.
Vaggie pulled their suitcases out of the trunk, most of his luggage having been shipped ahead to the tour bus, drawing out the handles and wheeling them with practiced ease as they crossed the threshold. Alastor slipped to the side, out of the way, as Vaggie went to the desk and checked them in.
The process was quick and professional and the lobby stayed blissfully empty throughout. Before he knew it they were making their way to the elevators, watching the numbers count down with its approach.
“Incoming,” Vaggie whispered under her breath and Alastor bit back a sigh at the sound of approaching footsteps, turning to face his tour mate.
The first thing he noticed was that Angel Dust was surprisingly tall. His delicate features and willowy frame made him seem smaller in photos and on camera, but he had at least a few inches on Alastor’s own impressive height. His platinum blonde hair curled in loose waves around his face, stopping just shy of his shoulders and melting into the fur collar of his trademark bomber jacket.
He’d seemingly just arrived from the airport as well, a set of eye piercingly pink leopard print suitcases being dragged by the blonde assistant next to him, a pair of matching, obnoxious heart shaped sunglasses hiding much of his face, doing far more to call attention to him than to act as any sort of disguise.
“Alastor! They didn’t say you were here already!”
Alastor plastered on a smile, removing his sunglasses and holding out a hand politely. “Anthony. Pleasure to meet you.”
Flicking his own sunglasses into his hair, the pop star revealed his famous heterochromic eyes but Alastor found himself more distracted by the wide, boyish smile that crossed his face and the constellations of freckles on his pale cheeks. He gripped Alastor’s hand in a surprisingly firm handshake, the contrast of their skin tones all the more apparent in close proximity, winking. “Call me Angel, I’d hug ya but they said you ain’t the touchy type.”
“I appreciate that… Angel.”
“Thanks for coming on board, I was real excited when I heard you’d said yes. The production team’s been bustin’ ass so I hope you’re ready to pop this fucker off!”
Alastor resisted the urge to grimace, the other man’s thick New York accent and casual use of expletives already grating on his nerves. “I’m sure.”
The elevator dinged its arrival and much to Alastor’s chagrin was empty, leaving plenty of room for the pair of newcomers to slide in alongside him and Vaggie. He noticed his assistant was already chatting with Angel Dust’s, the two seeming to have caught on quite well as they swapped numbers and stories about their respective flights.
Which sadly gave Angel Dust more of an excuse to speak to him.
“It fuckin’ sucked that I never saw you durin’ rehearsals, but I guess that makes sense since I was learnin’ choreography and you probably had to get the band up to snuff on your set list. Did you meet Husker, at least? He’s real anal about the lighting and pyrotechnics and stuff, figured he’d be up your ass from day one.”
“I haven’t had the pleasure.”
Angel Dust grinned, “Well he’ll catch you when you least expect it, fucker’s talented like that.” The elevator stopped and Angel looked up at the display in surprise at the low floor number. “This your floor?”
“Yep, that’s us,” Vaggie agreed, adjusting her grip on the suitcases as the doors slid open and stepping out. Alastor followed and, again to his displeasure, Angel Dust followed.
“Chacha, bring my stuff upstairs. I’ll meet you in a few, just wanna chat a bit more before I have to see Vee.”
The blonde looked concerned for a moment before plastering on a smile and nodding. “Right. Text me when you’re upstairs!”
He waved his hand noncommittally, walking to the fork in the hallway and glancing both ways before turning to the pair expectantly. Vaggie looked to Alastor for a brief moment before pressing forward, leading them down the hallways, dragging both of their suitcases behind her. Alastor bit back a sigh as Angel Dust trotted alongside, far too close for his comfort.
“Got a look at your set list, I’m excited to see it on stage tomorrow,” Angel Dust beamed and Alastor caught sight of what appeared to be a gem stone glittering on his canine. “Especially The Lady is a Tramp, really like your version.”
Alastor was actually surprised by the compliment. He knew, abstractly, that Angel Dust had to have shown some interest in his opening act, but knowing his particular genre didn’t have the widest appeal he hadn’t expected the other man to actively enjoy his music. “Thank you, it’s one I enjoy performing and the fans seem to like it.” Realizing the other man was surely expecting a compliment in return, he turned up the charm. “I haven’t been given the pleasure of seeing your set list, though I’m sure it will be quite... exciting.”
It sounded hollow and cliché even to his own ears and he could see the way Angel’s brow knit up for just a moment before smoothing just as quickly. “I’m pretty jazzed for it.”
They stopped at a door about three quarters down the hallway, Vaggie sliding the key card in with practiced ease and holding the door open for Alastor. After giving the other man a glance, he walked in, beelining for the opposite side of the room, opening the curtains to reveal the city view.
Angel Dust of course followed him, frowning. “The fuck? This is where the label put you? Nah, nah, why ain’t you upstairs like me in a suite? Fuck, lemme go talk to the desk, that’s bullshit.”
“Alastor prefers smaller rooms,” Vaggie explained, exasperation leaking into her voice as Angel Dust started towards the door. The pop star paused, blinking a few times before looking at the humble hotel room again.
His eyebrow raised skeptically. “Really?”
“Considering we’ll spend most of the tour on a bus, this is more than enough space for me.” Alastor watched as Vaggie set his suitcase on the luggage rack before nodding to her. “Heading out?”
“Unless you need something. I’ve already placed your dinner order with room service to arrive in half an hour and we’ll be leaving tomorrow at the usual time.”
“Thank you.”
Vaggie gave them one last look before heading towards the door. As it clicked shut, Angel Dust sat on the end of the bed, leaning back on his hands. Alastor supposed he should be glad the other man wasn’t resting his feet on the bedding.
“You really okay with a room like this?”
“Yes.”
Angel Dust gave the room another quick once over before shrugging. “Alright, then. If you need to stretch your legs or whatever, my door’s always open.”
Alastor smiled with just his mouth. “How kind.”
“I’m wrecked,” the pop star sighed theatrically, “they had me on some stupid talk show this mornin’ before my flight to promote an’ I couldn’t even sleep on the plane ‘cause some kid was kickin’ my seat the whole time. Forgot how much coach fuckin’ sucks.”
“You didn’t fly first class?” Alastor was somewhat surprised the other man hadn’t flown on a private jet. Even he’d swung for first class tickets for him and Vaggie.
“I was supposta,” Angel Dust hummed, “but this nice couple in I met in the airport was flyin’ to their honeymoon, gave ‘em me and Chacha’s tickets. Hope they dick down tonight, best way to celebrate a marriage.”
The small spark of surprise he felt at the other man’s generosity was quickly extinguished by the lewd comment and the obnoxious laugh that followed.
“You excited for the dry run tomorrow? Never feels real til I’m outta the dance studio an’ on the stage, but s’kinda creepy singin’ to an empty audience, y’know?”
“Simply part of the show experience, sadly.” Alastor glanced at the clock, making no move to disguise the motion and sure that Angel Dust caught it. “I’m sure you’re quite experienced with that, this being your… third tour?”
“Fourth.” Angel Dust corrected, smirking, “not that I remember mucha the last one, y’know?”
“Hmm.”
Angel Dust’s smirk fell.
“As much as I hate to cut this short, I am quite exhausted myself and hope to turn in early… I’m sure you’re needed to discuss what sort of glitter and what not you’ll need for tomorrow.”
“…right.” The pop star hesitated for a moment before swinging to his feet and Alastor was again caught off guard by how much taller the other man was. Angel Dust ran a hand through his hair absently, the waves flowing back into place stubbornly, and smiled wide again. “Since I prolly won’t catch you tomorrow what with all the shit we gotta do, figure I’ll ask now. I can neva sleep the first night on the tour bus-“
“I’m going to stop you there.”
Angel Dust’s teeth clicked together audibly as his mouth shut in surprise.
Alastor angled his chin up, “I’m quite familiar with your reputation and believe it’s prudent to make you aware of my immediate disinterest in the prospect. I have no desire to participate in one of your famous wild tours or partake in any of your many vices.”
“My what?”
Despite the insulted tone to Angel Dust’s voice, he pressed on. “I believe it will be in both of our best interests if we maintain a distance during all of this, don’t you? Wouldn’t want fuel the rumor mill.”
“Look, fucker, I don’t know where you get off but I’ve been nothin’ but nice t’ya since I got here even though every fuckin’ word outta your mouth is drippin’ with contempt. The fuck is your damage?”
“I’m quite sure I don’t know what you mean.”
“Don’t you bullshit me,” Angel Dust snarled, eyes practically glowing. “What, you thought I was makin’ a go at you? Don’t fuckin’ flatter yourself.”
“Not as though it’s the first time you entangled yourself with a tour mate.”
Angel Dust glowered and Alastor vaguely noted that the magazine cover hadn’t been edited all that much. “Is that it? You think I’m a stupid fuckin’ skank?”
Alastor crossed his arms behind his back. “Your stage persona speaks for itself.”
“I ain’t my stage persona,” Angel pointed a furious finger at him, poking him roughly in the sternum and he barely resisted stumbling backwards at the force of the jab. “And if you think I am, then maybe you’re the fuckin’ idiot here!”
“Anthony.” Alastor chose his name pointedly, pleased with the frown it received. “I signed on to this tour at the behest of my manager and the label. You aren’t my first choice for a collaboration, you’re not even my twentieth. Your reputation does far more than precede you and the sort of entertainment your media presence gathers is not at all the sort I have any interest in. I’m not on this tour to make friends; I’m here to work and to perform actual music.” He looked at him down his nose, eyebrow raised. “If you want someone to party with, I’m most certainly not it.”
Alastor expected more a reaction from his dressing down, even if it was just more anger and screaming. Instead, Angel Dust stood up to his full height, dropped his sunglasses over his eyes and shrugged.
“Your loss.”
Sliding his hands into the pockets of his bomber jacket, he took the few steps to the hotel room door, pausing with his hand on the knob.
“But I think all that shit says way more about you than it does about me.”
Alastor watched as he slipped through the door, the latch clicking into place loudly in the silence left behind. Sighing deeply, he shook his head.
“What have I signed myself up for?”