No One Like You
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Fic based on the 2012 movie, Rock of Ages.
Title based on the song playing in the background of this specific scene, "No One Like You" by the Scorpions.
Brief Summary: Stacee comes back for Constance toward the end of the film.
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She didn't fit in here. She never had fit in with this crowd. Everyone around her looked at her like she was out of place, and they were right to think it.
She was used to feeling different. In her field of work she had to face so many people who doubted her. They'd think to themselves, why would a girl like this ever dream of being a Rolling Stones journalist? They told her the job would eat her alive, that she'd run screaming from the very subjects of the articles she would be asked to write. But none of their threats stopped her from becoming a distinguished journalist in the end.
Who cared if she didn't fit in with the crowd on the outside? On the inside, Constance had a pure passion for rock and roll, just like everyone else. But she held the advantage over them, because she could savor her love for the art in secret, and not be made into a caricature like all the others.
At least, in her mind, that was how it worked.
Granted, they were all here tonight for the very same reason, and that reason was Stacee Jaxx. There had been a time not long ago when Constance would have shuddered at the name in disgust. But now the name made her shudder for a very different reason.
Miraculously enough, she didn't hate herself for being unable to resist him. Stacee was a lost soul, and all she wanted to do was save him from the demons inside. Foolishly, she'd thought she could succeed. But if, in reality, she had succeeded, she wouldn't be here right now.
Constance sighed to herself and tried to push all thoughts of Stacee Jaxx from her mind. In just a matter of minutes, she would be forced to watch him perform his first solo act on the stage right in front of her. By then there would be no escaping his magnificence once he took that microphone in his hand. It hurt her to even think about seeing him on stage again. Because she would hear Stacee's real voice - the hidden rage and fury and turmoil that no one else in the room could hear. They would hear the perfection of their greatest hero, but they wouldn't hear the imperfections of what was going on inside of him.
This saddened her like nothing else did. And honestly, she wished she didn't care so much about this man and his music. She wished she could leave him to soak up his glory and fame while it lasted. Sooner or later, he would find himself back at the bottom rung, washed up and faded out, a mere ghost of a man.
He was already well on his way.
Actual tears formed in Constance's eyes as she stared blankly at the now empty stage ahead of her. There was no one up there right now, but the presence of Stacee Jaxx was so pervasive, she could swear he was there somewhere, right in the room with her.
There were times when Constance felt strong, and other times when she felt . . . not so strong. She wished this were one of those times when she could be strong. But standing in the dark, loud, chaotic Bourbon Room, she felt utterly vulnerable.
This place should have been a familiar setting to her by now. Constance did well with familiarity. It was the fear of the unknown that got to her head. She knew she must have looked very unsure of herself as she stood on her wobbly legs in the middle of the rowdy drunkards. All she could hope was that they would carry on in their own little world and ignore her. If she just tried to keep still enough and mind her own business, then no one would even take a second glance at her . . .
Suddenly, she heard a collective gasp to her right. She didn't think much of it at first, but as the crowd shifted apart and began to whisper excitedly, she knew there was only one man who could rouse such a stir.
Slowly, she turned her head.
He looked lost, panicked in a way that seemed very unnatural for him. For as many times she'd seen him, which were admittedly few, he seemed downright stoned. Now he was trying so hard to regain his balance, to reclaim his sobriety. Constance somehow found the sight both unsettling and heartbreaking.
In a matter of seconds, his piercing eyes found her, held her, and locked her firmly in place. And in a room that she still did not find familiar, Stacee Jaxx was the very beacon of familiarity that kept her from drowning. The glittering studs on his black leather jacket, the garish tattoos on his bare chest, the heady fixation in his stare - all filled her with an odd sense of comfort and relief - like a lost child who had finally found the front door to her house on a dark street at night.
Her first instinct was to run to him, but she couldn't budge. Without any further acknowledgement beyond his captivating stare, he raised one ringed finger and pointed straight at her, as if taking aim for fire.
The intensity of his gesture suddenly frightened her, making her second guess the nature of his approach. As he began walking, in a kind of daze, toward her, she wondered if he was actually angry with her because of what she had written about him.
He was still too far away to be sure.
Step by step he made his way through the crowd, the people parting for him like the Red Sea for Moses. All the while his eyes blazed her soul, and she still could not guess whether the flames were fueled by hatred or desire.
Then his hand turned over, no longer pointing, but stretched out as if to take hers. It was that one little motion that helped her make the crucial distinction.
He did not hate her. He wanted her.
She couldn't explain it. Out of the thousands of girls in this room he could have had, he had eyes only for her.
Her urge to reach out for him was overwhelming, but she knew he was still too far away to touch. She would have moved toward him, but her feet were still planted in place, still paralyzed from the shock of her realization. But it was all right . . . He was coming for her.
Then out of nowhere, an eager blond woman flung herself at him, clinging to his jacket like a leech as she moaned his name and kissed him theatrically in the middle of the crowd. Constance seethed with jealous rage at this woman's unprecedented attack, but Stacee appeared unfazed, if even a little annoyed. His stare did not leave hers the entire time, assuring her that when it was over, he would be right back on the path he'd intended to take.
Constance tried to keep cool, knowing her efforts were in vain. Every second seemed to last an eternity while Stacee's lips were sealed to another woman's. But just as suddenly as she'd appeared, the woman fell - literally, fell - out of the picture. She landed with an insignificant thud on the ground, and Stacee's hand lifted, reaching out once again for his only target.
The room around Constance was freezing, but her body was suddenly alight with an uncontrollable fever.
He took one step closer, and it was just enough for Constance to see the longing in his eyes. The intensity of his gaze was so strong she felt it pulling her from somewhere deep inside. The magnetism this man possessed was obscene.
With one look he made her feel more like a woman than she'd ever felt in her life.
Her breath caught in her throat as she watched him approach, barely able to blink for fear that he might lose sight of her in the crowd. She was vaguely aware of the sea of pretty, curious female faces gathered behind him. Some were weeping, some were clutching their chests in shock, and some were gaping at her with eyes like daggers.
But nothing else in the room mattered.
Before she knew it, he was mere feet away from her, and she was drowning in his scent of leather and scotch. She could see the struggle of power and vulnerability in his expression, his desperation evident in the way his breathing wavered, in the tousled strands of dark hair that had fallen into his forehead.
Flustered by his indecent proximity, all Constance could think was to defend herself about the article. She hastily tried to apologize, thinking it would bring them both back to reality. But his daze was not broken.
His ever reaching hand finally made the contact he craved, his fingers grazing her cheek, too softly. As light as it was, her knees buckled at his touch. Then -
"Open your mouth."
His voice was a raspy whisper, barely audible above the noise of the crowd. She could feel the beat of the music in time with the beat of her heart, pumping harder by the second.
Puzzled by his request, she obeyed him, opening her lips a little bit wider, her eyes searching his face. His intentions could not be what she thought they were . . .
But when his mouth opened too, she caught the briefest glimpse of his tongue - a suggestive flicker, glistening with promise. And her mouth opened wider yet when she realized he was going to kiss her.
The fire in his eyes reached an unbearable heat as he extended his tongue and slipped it inside her open mouth.
Her notebooks dropped to the ground as her hands wrapped possessively around his head, and his arms fastened ferociously around her back. Not caring who was watching, she surrendered to his hungry kiss, a slave to his whims in the same way he was a slave to her brutal honesty. She had exposed him for what he really was, both to the masses and to himself. And he, apparently, adored her for it.
For a woman whose only experience of love was a high school sweetheart who had broken her heart shortly after graduation, Constance could hardly believe this was happening to her. A rock star - a literal rock star - had chosen her.
Men like Stacee Jaxx had a category all their own; they were called heartbreakers.
Who'd have ever thought Stacee Jaxx would be the one to put her broken heart back together?
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Rock on. :P