(A/N: WOW! Youre'reading this! Why do people read these notes, anyway. *Ahem.* I just want to thank the person from Dreamstreet that I randomly IMed for giving me the idea to this story. When told to fuck off by a celebrity, you tend to get funny ideas, now don't you? I'd been rolling this around in my head for quite some time, and now, tis finally on paper! The longest first chapter I've ever written... pretty sad, ne? Anyway, please r/r, and enjoy! Flames shall be used to make s'mores. I say it now and I hope you read... THIS IS SLASH! GUYS FUCKING GUYS. Got a problem? Then don't read it. ^^ Have a good day.)

Order in Confusion

Chapter One: Undertaking the Engagement of the Enemy

Shane stared blankly at the computer. His leather trench coat ran off of him like soft leather pools of water, the ends of it sweeping around his dangling, booted feet. His eyes, a spectacular shade of silver green that had been previously unseen among humans, scanned the words, over… and over again. He swept a hand, covered in a fishnet warmer, the nails sharpened to claws and painted with gold, through his long auburn hair that gathered messily around his pale, made-up visage and draped loosely to his shoulders. The claw-like hands tapped swiftly on the computer keypad, and when they were through conveying Shane's message, he fixed the dark sunglasses that were ever-present on his chiseled face.

BlackGlitter69: You want me to what?

WonderLlama87: come on shane. i mean, i bet it's not him, anyway.

BlackGlitter69: I'd appreciate it if you capitalized your "I"s, Christine. And my name, as well as the "come." And there ought to be a comma between "on" and my name.

WonderLlama87: For a semi-goth punk guy, you sure are prissy.

BlackGlitter69: I'm not a goth. I just like the colour black and I happen to listen to gothic music and punk and metal. But I like classical and techno as much as the next guy. And I'm more an artist than anything.

WonderLlama87: Oh yeah? Well, what about the makeup, then?

Shane had to smile. She should at least know the answer to that, he thought ruefully. He merely responded in his normal, enigmatic way.

BlackGlitter69: I'm a glitter child. End of discussion.

It was true, at least. The 17-year-old alternated between his black leather trenchcoat, a 70's velvet blue jacket, and a glittery gold trenchcoat he had made himself. His platform boots were covered in golden sequins. The eternal gold and black of his outfits looked perfect with the auburn of his perfect mane and the silver-emerald of his eyes. Not that anyone ever saw the eyes- they were always hidden behind his sunshades. Could he help it if he was particularly sensitive to sunlight?

BlackGlitter69: Anyway, we were straying off topic. The point is this job. It's totally absurd and stupid and annoying. As are you.

WonderLlama87: Ooh, that one hurt. *That was sarcasm, btw.* Anyway, it's your job. You're an actor and a spy, dude. Come on, I just HAVE to know!

The job in question was simple: Christine wanted to know if the boy online that she had been given the screen name of was really a member of her favourite band. Shane was opposed to this mission for several reasons. The first was his fear of speaking to famous people. In fact, anyone he didn't know for at least two years, intimately, was out of question. He didn't want to bother or interrupt anything or something. For this reason- that he was incredibly shy- he was termed broody and stuck up. The second reason for not wanting the job being his hatred for the band in question. They were a bunch of preps that were, as he heard, complete homophobes, and gave a bad name to the prestigious title of "artist."

He hated preps. And he hated phobes.

WonderLlama87: Pleeeeeeeeze?

BlackGlitter69: How can you like that group, anyway? I've heard they're a bunch of elitist bigot bastards. And they're a boy band. Which makes them doubly evil in my book.

WonderLlama87: They have good music. AND they're soooooo hot! Especially Deon.

Shane stopped and looked at the writing. He had never actually seen pictures of the band, Tres Joulie, as it was named, and of course not the member in question. With a few swipes of the keypad and clicks of the mouse, he was there at their exceedingly pretentious website.
His silver-green eyes widened behind their shield, and for a rare occasion, he deftly removed the glasses from the bridge of his nose, holding them loosely in his claws. His lipgloss coated lips fell slightly open, and he stared, alluring and slackjawed, at the computer screen.

"Bloody Motherfucking tossing sodding shit," he exhaled, his sweetened breath coating the screen in fog for a mere second. She couldn't actually expect him to do this, could she? Talking to a stranger was one thing, talking to a famous stranger…

But talking to a famous stranger that pretty much exacted his wish for physical perfection in a partner was quite another. He blinked thrice, peeled himself from the computer screen, leaned back into his leather office chair, and replaced his glasses on his face. His friend was insane if she actually expected him to go through with this. He would make a total fool of himself, and probably get carried away and insult the poor boy. Deon, was his name? Yes, he checked again. The boy with a piercing blue gaze, a thin, chiseled, scholarly visage, and raven black hair that draped loosely over one eye. That had to be him.

WonderLlama87: Shane?

WonderLlama87: Shane, you there?

WonderLlama87: Have you died?

The sound of the IM box going off snapped him fiercely back to reality.

BlackGlitter69: Yes. Yes, I most certainly have.

WonderLlama87: I don't get you sometimes.

BlackGlitter69: Name one person who does.

WonderLlama87: …

WonderLlama87: Good point.

WonderLlama87: Anyway… do I have to get on my knees and beg you, Shane? Do I?

BlackGlitter69: It wouldn't do anything. This mission is totally out of the question. There's nothing you could say or do.

WonderLlama87: Can I pay you?

Shane stopped short. Money? As in, physical, paper compensation for his troubles? Compensation that he could use to buy "Invader Zim" or "Johnny the Homicidal Maniac" or "I Feel Sick" or "Squee!" merchandise? Or better yet…

He checked the poster hanging on the wall of his room. It was a beautiful ivory white fender, the price cheerfully attached beneath the picture in foreboding black lettering. He looked back to the illuminated screen.

BlackGlitter69: How much, exactly, are you offering?

WonderLlama87: What do you want?

The glitter Brit boy blurted a number, and a good five minutes later, his friend responded.

WonderLlama87: HOLY SHIT! Jesus Christ, Shane! That's about half of my bank account!!!!!


BlackGlitter69: Hey, sorry I said it. You can forget it, then.

There was silence for a moment from Christine, and Shane sank back into his music. He played it loud, so it surrounded him beautifully, humming through his every cell, encasing him in a mother's warm embrace, totally a part of him. Radiohead played at the moment from his mix CD- his personal theme song, "Creep." He knew that it was probably the personal theme song of every single wayward, outcast teen on the planet, but he still cherished it as his. His alone. How he longed to play riffs like that, from something more than his grandfather's beat-up acoustic guitar. And now, his fender was so very close. He had Christie in the palm of his fishnet covered, manicured paw.

Once again, the chime of the IM box snapped him out of his lonely reverie.

WonderLlama87: You are so evil.

WonderLlama87: …

WonderLlama87: Fine.

Shane nearly squealed for joy. A fender of his own! And all he had to do was build up the courage to use his moves on the famous hottie. It wouldn't be so hard, actually. He was rather interested in how life was in the limelight… but he had to remember, he had to weasel it out of the other teen, and be totally calm, cool, and not at all like the intense boy-crazed maniac that rampaged inside him.

Well kid, he thought, pushing his glasses further on the bridge of his nose with a long index finger, this is where you finally learn to grow up. It was a hefty price for that money- but a hefty reward, as well.


Deon slumped back in his chair, placing his tennis-shoe-clad feet onto his designer chair. A chair, he wondered briefly. How can a chair be designer? He ignored this immensely stupid question and merely crossed his arms over his chest. No more fucking fan girls, he thought angrily. They probably weren't even hot. Somehow, he had gotten a conversation going with one of them, named Anna, he remembered. He simply ignored the other fawning bitches and continued his talk with her. It wasn't all about him, and that pleased him.

Loony_Dude22: I agree with u, totally.

banannamoo: i mean, there soooooo sik. how can u choos 2 live like that

Deon grimaced a bit, though not at the anger in the girl's words. It was her spelling. She insisted that she was 17, as he was… but her vernacular suggested otherwise. Sure, he used shorthand as much as the next pop star, but he always typed clearly enough so that the other person didn't have to read the sentince over five times to understand it.

He swallowed his upbringing, however, and refrained from asking his fan to add punctuation and change "there" to "they're."

Loony_Dude22: I don't understand. Some guys LIKE girls with girls, but I think it's just disgusting.

banannamoo: dude, ewwww. a girl hit on me 1 time, 2. it was sik

"SICK!" Deon banged his fist on the desktop. "S-I-C-K! LEARN TO SPELL, DAMNIT!" He frowned a little, then looked around as his bandmates stared at him, confused and disturbed. He sank back into his chair- designer, damnit. I still don't understand that- and watched the next message pop onto his screen.

banannamoo: i dont get how ppl think u guyz are fags

Loony_Dude22: Me neither.

Loony_Dude22: But people think that about all boy bands.

He sighed again as Anne rambled on about something or other he had no intention of caring anything about in the slightest. Suddenly, another box made it's way to the top of the screen.

BlackGlitter69: Nice screen name.

The boy band member raised an eyebrow, intrigued. He had heard many pickup lines in his time. This had to be the most… interesting. Whoever this person was seemed rather dark, even from the first few words she had spoken. She… perhaps it wasn't a she. His stomach turned at the thought of another male fan. All Deon knew at that moment was that "BlackGlitter69" had proper capitalization and punctuation.

Loony_Dude22: Do I know you?

BlackGlitter69: Apparently not, or you wouldn't be asking, now would you?

Deon's eyes widened. Was this person… mocking him? Whatever it was, it drove him to want to learn more, though he knew in the back of his mind that he would probably regret this new knowledge.

Loony_Dude22: Who are you?

BlackGlitter69: Friends call me Shane.

He grimaced. He'd known it. How stupid. Silently and disgustedly, he closed the IM box, and after he did so, something within him seemed rather empty and regretful. What am I thinking? Regret? He's just another sick faggot pervert… thing. But even as he typed to Anne about something completely different, he could not get the other boy off his mind.

He did not have to brood or regret much longer, for Shane's box popped directly in his line of sight once more.

BlackGlitter69: Allow me to elucidate myself to you. I am most certainly not a fan. I just have a job to do. I feel it isn't fair to lie to you, and though I am an actor and, as my friends say, a con man and relative spy, I have never dealt with people such as yourself before. So pardon the intrusion if you are not what you seem, for I merely have work to be done. You see, a few weeks prior to this conversation, a friend of mine had received information that you were her favourite band member of her favourite band. I am here merely to verify this information without causing embarrassment to her.

He gazed blankly at the words before him. How could someone be so very eloquent in an IM conversation? Stunned, he willed his numb hands to type two stricken words.

Loony_Dude22: Nice speech.

BlackGlitter69: lol

BlackGlitter69: I try.

Loony_Dude22: Um…

BlackGlitter69: The way I see it is you either tell me to fuck off and then block me, or politely answer my *burning* question and then I shall leave you be.

BlackGlitter69: Your choice.

Fuck off… naughty thoughts leapt into his head, and he quickly shook him away, repeating one word in his mind like a mantra. Guy… guy… guy… he is a guy.

Loony_Dude22: Well, I'll answer. Her information is correct.

BlackGlitter69: Good. Now I can get a fender.

Loony_Dude22: A…

BlackGlitter69: Fender. Yeah. I was paid for this job, but oh well.

Loony_Dude22: Yeah.

Some insane part of him was actually pretty disappointed. Shane was obviously very versed in what he did, and Deon hated that he was just another "gig," as it were.

BlackGlitter69: lol

BlackGlitter69: You enjoy monosyllabic replies, do you not?

BlackGlitter69: OK, well, I'll leave you alone now, unless you want to talk to semi-goth glitter actor with too much free time on his hands.

Well… he didn't want to seem too eager. The person was a male… and a goth. He was almost certain now that the person would come after him with a gun because of his prep nature. But, Jesus, Shane was making him forget everything else around him, and he had never felt that way before, online or in real life, besides when he was singing. He couldn't believe himself, but he wanted to more about the other person, and perhaps it was because he wasn't a fan… and he was a potential friend.

Loony_Dude22: Whatever u want.

BlackGlitter69: **Shrug.**

Shrug. Did that mean yes, or no? For several long moments, he stared anxiously at the computer screen, waiting for the other boy to respond. Hoping that he would. Why was he acting so stupid? How could he ever be thinking these… nasty, nasty thoughts? He couldn't let on. He would just forget it- treat Shane like another nameless fan- and it would all go away.

BlackGlitter69: My friend Christine is so stupid. She wants to talk to you.

BlackGlitter69: She wants to know what it's like.

Loony_Dude22: It?

BlackGlitter69: Being big, I mean.

Loony_Dude22: Big?

BlackGlitter69: Famous.

He could have smacked himself. How could he have been so very stupid? Of course, that was the question they all asked. Shane was like all the rest. But, Deon's least favourite side kicked in, it's not Shane who's saying it. It's his friend. Female friend. He's not like all the rest… and you know it.

Loony_Dude22: It's ok.

BlackGlitter69: In my opinion, being famous is a real crock of shit. I mean, it's not worth crap unless you do something good with it.

BlackGlitter69: Maybe that's just me.

BlackGlitter69: I guess you'd have had to have a taste of it to know, though.

Now he was insulted. What was Shane saying? Going back exactly on everything the band stood for… insulting his dreams? What a pathetic moron. An actor? Hah. If he was any good, he'd be famous too. The bastard was just… jealous.

How could someone just shoot down his… life? Deon tried to ignore the fact that Shane was probably very right indeed, and that he himself was more than a little turned on, and was most certainly intent on ignoring Shane.

Loony_Dude22: Yes, you would.

BlackGlitter69: Sorry. Just my opinion.

Well, you didn't have to share, you know?

There was an unbearable silence as Deon minimized the box, something within him not yet wanting to close completely out of Shane's life forever, but a part of him still wanting to forget. How could some little asshole across the country, perhaps even the world, tell him how to live his own life like that?

BlackGlitter69: So, I heard you like acting.

BlackGlitter69: What's your favourite play?

He gritted his teeth, trying desperately not to enjoy the other boy's conversation. It was sick and wrong and sick. He hated this person. Hated how desperately he wanted to know him.

Loony_Dude22: This is where I tell you to fuck off

Loony_Dude22: And block you.

BlackGlitter69: lol

HOW WAS HE SO CALM? Laughing? Why? Did it mean nothing these days to be cussed out by a celebrity? He could at least fucking react!

Loony_Dude22: Byebye.

He stared at the screen, closed out of the box, and sighed. He hadn't actually blocked him, and the name remained fresh in his mind. So why didn't Shane say something? Beg his forgiveness? Insult him some more? Anything would be better than this… nothing. A few hours passed, however, and neither boy heard one bit from the other. And Deon could not get that boy off his head. Did nothing ever crack Shane at all? Perhaps… perhaps…

He had a plan. A simple, completely brilliant plan. He would execute it the next day. He really needed to beat off at the moment. Thinking preferably about a chick. He was a boy. Who liked girls. And Shane was not a girl. But he needed to find out more about the dude, and he knew exactly how to do it.


Crazybabe7: Hey.

Well, here goes nothing, Deon thought ruefully, feeling more than a little stupid. Halfway across the country, Shane replied.

BlackGlitter69: Erm… hello?

Is this Christie with a new screen name? Shane didn't know, and frankly didn't care. He was in the middle of getting drunk. Drunk, drunk, drunk…

Crazybabe7: You don't know me.

BlackGlitter69: I should bloody say I don't.

Ugh, not another one of those people wanting to fuck online. Just a stupid killer trying to get near my friends and family. It's not going to happen, buddy… girl… person.

Crazybabe7: I'm a bit of a secret admirer from your Literature class.

Crazybabe7: I wanted to get to know you.

Why do they always say Literature? I mean, what if I was not in high school, or something? Shane sighed, pouring another gulp of bourbon down his seething throat. How stupid. Oh well, I'll get them.

BlackGlitter69: OK then "admirer," what's my name, hmm? Or do you not know?

Playing hard to get, eh? Deon could have smacked himself for his brain's reply to Shane's answers. He wanted to either hit him with something or tie him down to a bed somewhere and…
This time, he really did smack himself.

Crazybabe7: It's Shane, silly.

Shane read the reply, blanched, and drank some more. Either this was one of his friends being potty… or he really had a secret admirer. A female secret admirer. He drank some more again. Bloody bastard, you! Why do the women always fall for men in makeup, damnit? It must be Christie. It has to be.

BlackGlitter69: Is that you, Christine, being a nutter again?

Crazybabe7: No, I'm one of her friends. And you don't know me.

Deon gritted his teeth. He had to keep calm, cool, collected. Every inch of him wondered what had driven him to do this, but he knew that he just had to know more about the other boy.

Crazybabe7: I don't know much about you, and I was wondering if maybe, we could learn more about each other…

OK, that just screamed "come-on." If Shane had wanted to be drunk before, it was nothing compared to that moment. He couldn't help it, though. He just… had to laugh.

BlackGlitter69: lol

The laugher increased… he could not keep it in… and some demon possessed him to type his mirth on the line. He would explain it later.

BlackGlitter69: LOL

BlackGlitter69: LMAO

BlackGlitter69: ROTFLMFAO!!!!!!

Deon was hurt. He knew it wasn't anything against him, was it? Had he said something stupid? Or worse… did Shane have an obvious girlfriend? Was he about to be discovered? He had been as polite as possible, and the other boy was merely laughing- guffawing- in his proverbial face.

Well, at least he had gotten some kind of reaction out of him.

BlackGlitter69: You… obviously know absolutely nothing about me at all, do you?

Crazybabe7: That's what I told you before.

BlackGlitter69: No, I mean… you aren't very observant, are you?

Crazybabe7: What, do you have a girlfriend or something? I mean, I'm willing to just be friends…

BlackGlitter69: Darling, I'd love to be friends with you. But there's something you should know… and you must have been bloody stoned off your arse not to see.

BlackGlitter69: I'm gay.

Deon screamed, flinging himself back from this desk violently, only returning to warn the bastard and then block him. "SICK! THAT'S SO NASTY!"

But, his annoying side kicked in, as always, Isn't that what you wanted?

"NO!" If he could have kicked an invisible part of his subconscious, he would have done so at that precise moment. More than kicking. Perhaps violent murder, followed by burning the corpse, then stomping on the ashes and throwing them at the stupid faggots he so hated.

His band mate, Rich, silently slinked over to him, caution etching his every movement. "Um… D, are you… ok?"

"NO! I'M NOT OK? DOES IT LOOK LIKE I AM? SICK, SICK, SICK!" With that, he pushed the other boy out of his way and stomped off to his room in the studio, feeling very much like breaking something.


"Ooooh, shit." Shane was just sober enough to know that this was very, very, very bad. His vision blurred, he picked up the receiver of his phone and dialed the oh-so-fuzzy numbers.



"Shane! I told you to stop drinking! What's wrong, are you sick? Do you need emergency attention? SHOULD I CALL 911?"

"No. But it is an emer… emer… thingy."


"Do you know any girls who fancy me?"

"No, not at all. Well, Mary used to. But then she gave up, because, I mean, look at you!"

"Thank you so bloody much."

"You really like that word, don't you?"


"Never mind. Anyway… why did you ask?"

"Ask what?"

"If I knew any girls who like you."

"Wait… who could you have given my screen name to?"

"No one!" Christine frowned. "What? Why?" A clicking sound happened on the other end, followed closely by a buzzing tone. "SHANE!" She hung up her receiver and frowned. Oh well… whatever it was, he would sort it out when he was sober. Maybe.

As it was, Shane promptly fell asleep. When he woke, he was in no mood to think about much, and so he merely went back to bed (as it was the weekend). When he rose once more, the question still troubled him horribly.

"Who was that person? How did they get my screen name? My name? And Christy's… unless…" He blinked. "That's impossible."

"Honey?" His mother called up.

"Yeah, mum?"

"You're talking to yourself again. Are you alright?"

"Fine, mum." He sat in his chair, and commenced his conversation with himself, this time a little quieter. "It couldn't have possibly. I mean, what are the odds he still remembers I exist? WAIT! Why are you thinking of him? He's a snobbish little phobe who can't take an opinion without throwing a hissy fit. I don't understand it… ugh… celebrities… I need a drink." He reached for his trusty bourbon, before remembering that he had drank it all the previous night. His mother was still down there, and there was no chance of him sneaking into the cabinet for more. He would have some after she went off for work, he resolved silently.

Right now, he had to sort this out. He really did.

"Well, I'm out, anyway. So I couldn't be outed against my will, or anything. She can't really do much; I should just let it slide. If she's really a 'she…' But I digress." He flipped his long auburn tresses.

Something suddenly compelled him to access the 'Tres Joulie' website, so he wheeled his chair over to the computer and found it, and when he did, he was greeted with the cold blue eyes of Deon. Click… click… "Let's see here… profiles. About this 'Deon' character…" Shane mused aloud in his thick British accent. "Hmm. Real name: William Deon Harvey. I like that name, William. Much better than Deon, if you ask me. Age: 17. My age. Favourite movie: The Matrix." Shane snorted. "How trite. Well, it's not as if he would like 'Velvet Goldmine' or 'In and Out,' now would he? Of course not… Favourite book: Doesn't read. What a bloody moron. Says he loves 'the ladies…' can we say 'overcompensation,' ladies and gents?" He laughed slightly. "Indeed."

He accessed all the pictures of the boy, staring lovingly into those steely eyes.

"WAIT!" Clicking off the monitor, Shane panicked and spun away from the computer. "He was a bastard last night, he truly was. And he's a bloody homophobe, for god's sake. So why…" He really needed that drink. "Why can't I stop wanting him?"

With that, he stood, strode down the staircase, and reached for the liquor cabinet with trembling hands. His mother was gone. It was time. Soon, he was swept away in a beautiful ocean of light and darkness where the name 'William' meant absolutely nothing.