|
"Now?"
Marc finished buckling his shoe, keeping one eye on the clock. The light was too bright in the dressing room, making his features harsh as he finished dabbing the corner of his eye with a cotton bud. He startled as the door opened; his eyeliner smudged black against his fingertip.
"Bugger."
"Mr. Bolan?" The older man looked self assured if uncomfortable in his too tight drainpipes. "Jeffrey. I'm here to drive you —"
"Alright cat, cool your boots." Bolan snapped his fingers impatiently, his eyes darting around the dressing room. "Jacket, jacket, jacket."
He looked up at the driver with wide eyes. "Jeff, I'm starving. You wouldn't have a pie around eh? Stick of butter, perhaps?"
The man in the doorway was leaning his weight against the frame, uncomfortably shifting to each foot. "If we're going to catch the ceremony, we really must —"
"Get a wriggle on?" Marc grinned as he grabbed a fistful of yellow feathers. "Aha! Duck jacket!" He struggled into it, and bid his mirror goodbye with a cheeky wink. "How do I look, man?"
"I really couldn't say. Very..."
Marc fluffed his plumage, pouting.
"Ducky?"
"Oh, I like that. Smashing! You know, I don't mind a man with a bit of meat on his bones. C'mon, give us a go," he intoned, teasingly.
"Quite, sir. But we have a wedding to stop. Jolly ho, pip pip!"
"You're not actually English are you, baby?"
"Not a whit."
Marc grinned with all his teeth, and ran ahead to the car, jumping over mic leads and cords in his mary janes. "Hurry! Jeff, we have to arrive before the final bell tolls for T-Rexmas, and Adam Ant and Billy Idol are wed."
Jeff fumbled the car keys, as they stepped into the midday sun. "It's Christmas, mate."
"T-REXMAS!" Marc snapped back.
He looked at Bolan, blankly.
"Oh, just get in the bloody car."
Moments later, Adam Ant entered the dressing room. He cut a dandyish figure, dressed in his rocker groom's attire.
"Marc?"
The table was still in disarray, makeup scattered in candyshop colours. The room smelt of him, or as Adam imagined Marc to smell. Mostly of hairspray. He plucked up the used cotton bud, placing a feverish kiss to it.
"Billy, I can't go through with this," he whispered. "I love another." He pictured Billy as he had left him, twirling the thick silk of his creamy white dress, his hair freshly bleached to match. The image was so vivid that for a moment, he didn't trust his eyes.
Amongst the clutter of the table, there was a photo. Billy's face sneered back at him.
"Marc, why have you forsaken me? My love is pure and true, like a unicorn!" Adam Ant traced a finger over the gilt frame, and then clutched it tightly to his chest.
"Oh, Billy Idol, what will become of me?" The frame fell to the floor of the dressing room, clattering with a metallic thud. He faced the mirror, and wiped the bud across his nose, in a thick black line. "Today my face shall be black, for today my dream dies."
He addressed the cut out pictures of Marc from the singer's collection of magazines about himself. Each picture was covered in lipstick imprints. "Marc, if I can't have you," Adam choked back a sob, and tucked the bud tight into his vest, above his breaking heart.
The bridal waltz was drifting quietly over the room, seeming to Billy as white and perfect as everything else about his day. In thirteen minutes he was going to be a bride. The other girls had left him alone to finish dressing, throwing last minute advice about waterproof mascara and to avoid eating anything "bloaty". He skimmed hands down his stomach, coated in white lace. His reflection copied the movement. "This is me," he told it. The reflection began to twitch its lip. "A white wedding? Not bloody likely, son." Sneering back, Billy ripped at his hem, and reached for a pair of very tight leather pants.
Adam waited at the alter, pacing. "He should be here now. The bell is about to toll for T-rexmas." He huffed, contrarily.
"You mean Christmas, my son."
"Yes," Adam drawled, unconvinced. "But keep your voice down; I don't want the boys hearing that I've got myself a punk rock runaway bride."
The boys in the front pew passed a badly disguised bottle and started humming.
"Alright baby, cut the music."
The church was dead quiet, as Marc walked through the door, heads springing back between the two men.
"You bitch!" yelled Adam Ant. "If I can't have you, Marc, no one can!" He ran down the aisle, coloured coattails flailing. The boys rolled their eyes at the silly queens, and kept drinking, as Ant rushed into Marc's arms, kicking and flailing. There was a moment of indecision. Marc tottered backwards and fell, inelegantly. He reached for Ant and pulled him down in a breathless embrace.
"Hey, I never said sharing was out of the question. How do you get your kicks, man?"
Ant blushed then cast a concerned glance to the front of the room. "Are you sure the priest is down with all this?"
"Actually, mate, I'm not a real priest at all. You're hard pressed to get them round this time of year, working their guts out at Chrissie —"
"T-REXMAS, Jeff," Marc corrected him prissily, then pinched Ant's bum. "Tis the season."
There was a flash of white tulle and black leather, and the heavy doors began to close, with some grunting. "Give us a hand?" Jeff hitched up his robes, and helped push the doors shut. "It's for dramatic effect, you understand," Billy stage whispered through the crack, as he passed through a guitar lead. "...Plug me in then, you tit."
There was a mighty crackle of feedback, and the doors were pushed open by a panting Jeff as Idol stood frozen, his head held high. Adam made to move from Marc, who grinned lazily at both of them in turn, propped on Adam's lap.
Billy's eyes sparked as he saw the two men tangled. "It's a nice day for a white wedding," he narrowed his eyes. His pants and chest showed through the gapping holes in his dress, his black eyes smeared carelessly. He couldn't decide between a corsage and a leather bracelet, and silently congratulated himself for going with both.
"This is more like it. Such a bore before." Marc sucked the tip of his finger, trying to look guileless.
"Billy, I never meant to hurt you." Adam stood up, leaning on Marc's substantial, silky-clad thigh.
"It's fine, actually. I'm not that bothered." Billy sneered, his lashes low and his pride bruised.
Marc rolled his eyes and leant forward. "C'mere, cat. Can you handle this?" He cupped his moobs with a saucy wink, and Idol melted to the floor like butter.
"Butter," whispered Marc, licking his neck.
And they had lots and lots of chubby gay sex, and lived happily ever after, except Marc died in a car crash and went to the astral plane. The end.
|