@uncovereliminate continued from here (kind of)
All attention is good attention.
Sander faked a smile at a reporter and forced out pleasantries, sweet enough to make himself nauseous. He could tell she was a reporter by the hungry way she needled him with questions. Flies on a corpse was all they were, looking for the softest place to burrow.
Too much attention is better than none at all.
It wasn’t just her, it was all of them. Reporters, fans, hopefuls. All of them. Hovering around him expectantly. All of them wanting something and soaking that want in glamour and praise, like it made it more palatable.
Alcohol almost could, but finishing another glass –how many now? – Sander knew he had drank too much and still the gnats swarmed. His answered slurred and toed the line of acceptable and the artist could feel a scandal brewing somewhere in him. It would just be the next thing to prod him about at the next event.
It all itched underneath his skin, but a face a little ways away pulled the artist out of his spiral. Ben. Ben Film, who had a way of pushing through the cracks of Sander’s coldness in a way that was infuriating any other day —and sometimes enough to keep the artist up at night, if he was being honest with himself. Tonight, Ben was a blessing. He was a ray of sunlight in this mess.
“Ben!” Overeager, and yes, he had caught Ben’s attention, but also everyone else’s. He could feel the questions before they were asked and predict the wording of the rumors that would be woven into the article in the Tribune tomorrow, but still he dodged that insect reporter and reached out for Ben.
“Oh, Mr. Film, I need to talk to you,” He began, and it was the most collected thing he had said in the past half hour, his hand gripping Ben’s arm as he offered a honeyed smile to the woman.
And he lead Ben away with no explanation, lighting a cigarette before they had even reached the door. Out in the hall Sander felt as if he could breathe again and he used the freedom to fill his lungs with smoke. The nicotine and alcohol merged to make something even more anxious – as if that were possible. The artist turned his head away, directing the smoke away from Ben and avoiding that annoying, pretty smile, if it were even there instead of confusion.
“I needed to– I saw you and you’re so… nice. You’re not all of that,” He gestured vaguely towards the ballroom. The thoughts poured from the artist as much as he wished they would just stay put so he could suffer through them alone instead of dragging the target of his confusion directly into it all.
“Why do you – Why are you so nice to me? What do you want?” The artist asked, confused and slurred as put the cigarette out beneath his shoe. His hands didn’t give Ben any time to respond, frustration at the night, the party, and himself redirected at Ben. He pushed the man roughly against the wall. Too roughly. He saw that look of shock on Ben’s face, but everything was already in motion when Sander’s lips crashed into Ben’s.
Sander’s hand curled around the back of the other man’s neck, fingers threading through dark hair as the artist deepened the kiss. It was clumsy and champagne-messy, teeth knocking and Sander leaning far too heavy on the other man. He broke away only when he forgot how to breathe and pressed his face to Ben’s shoulder.
Moments passed before he realized he should say something, but the words weren’t ordering themselves correctly and the hallway started to sway under the effort. Beyond the wall, the party was still in full swing; Sander could hear the music and the voices and his other hand found the small of Ben’s back.
“I can’t go back in there, they’ll – they’ll eat me alive,” Sander said, words muffled by the fabric of Ben’s jacket. It was no explanation for the kiss, but it was the best he could offer at the moment.