Work Text:
Once, in a strange land of hippies and lentils and spontaneous musical numbers was a house, in which good King Cliff Richard ruled over all. And the King was syrupy and obnoxious and his god-fucking-awful music rang through the halls and all but his most faithful subject were thoroughly miserable under his oppressive and insipid reign.
But in the land of the King, revolution was well-at-hand.
~~~~
*Belligerent ghouls
Run Manchester schools
Spineless swines
Cemented minds*
Vyvyan liked the opening riff. Rory was right, it started out all right anyway. He'd have to see how the rest of the album went. He reclined on his bed, picked up the latest issue of 'Blood, Devastation, Death, War and Horror' and settled in.
Not a minute had passed when Rick popped his head into Vyvyan's open doorway. Vyvyan caught him out of the corner of his eye, but didn't look up. Bastard. He'd just turned it on.
"What?" he said, not exactly irritated, but not exactly not irritated, either.
"Vyvyan, we're trying to find enough dice to play Yahtzee, do you-"
He stopped short and stepped into the room, slowly and in a kind of awe.
"What is that?" Rick watched Vyvyan's stereo with fascination.
"It's a cassette player," Vyvyan said.
Rick rolled his eyes and put his hands on his hips, "I know that, what's playing on the cassette player?"
"A cassette," Vyvyan said, still thumbing through his magazine.
"Vyvyan, just tell me what's on the radio!" Rick's face was getting red. Vyvyan glanced up at him and smirked.
"Radio's not on."
"VYVYAN, YOU KNOW WHAT I-" Rick stomped his feet, then composed himself. He sat at the foot the bed and tried again.
"What are you listening to?"
"You! Squawking over the music I've just sat down to enjoy!"
"Just bloody tell me!"
Vyvyan burst into laughter, "Can't you tell it's The Smiths you stupid bastard?"
Rick's eyes widened, "This is The Smiths? I've heard of them, but I've never actually heard what they sounded like!"
Vyvyan sat up, threw down his magazine, reached over to the shelf on the bookcase at his bedside where his stereo currently resided, pressed pause and looked at Rick, incredulous.
"You've never heard what they- Their debut album went to number 2 in the bloody charts last year! You can't turn on a bloody radio, or turn on bloody telly, or walk down the bloody street without running into the bloody Smiths! I know, for certain, someone's played them at a party you've attended in the last year."
"I don't follow a lot of modern music, Vyvyan! Most of the crap the kids listen to these days is, well, crap."
"But-" Vyvyan shook his head and closed his eyes in restraint, "What do you want?"
Rick got quiet a moment. "Can I…listen too?"
Vyvyan rolled his eyes. "Then shut up and listen!"
He rewound the cassette and started over. He relaxed again, picked up his magazine and reclined. Rick remained at the foot of the bed at first, slightly awkward and unsure. Times like these were always a little awkward.
One of Rick's problems with the Thing With Vyvyan was he had absolutely no idea where Vyvyan's boundaries were when they were alone together, but clothed. It was clear Vyvyan wasn't going to tell him, either, he was just supposed to glean Vyvyan's intentions and behave accordingly. He was never very good at that, in any situation, and most often Vyvyan was an impenetrable wall as far as Rick was concerned. Eventually he inched his way toward Vyv until he was sitting between his back and the wall. Vyvyan put up with this until Rick started in again.
"How long have you listened to them? I have to say, I like this a lot. I wonder wh-"
He was cut short by Vyvyan's tossing away his magazine, pulling him down by his shirt and sticking his tongue in his mouth. Rick responded eagerly – message received.
Vyvyan smiled a little into the kiss. He was going to listen to this bloody album one way or the other, and this way he could keep the chatterbox quiet and have a bit of fun in one go. Brilliant.
Vyvyan dozed, having tired of both the album and the snog session only ten minutes in or so. Rick lay draped over Vyvyan's chest, entirely rapt. With Vyvyan asleep and nothing else to do, Rick had done just what he was told; he shut up and listened. After rewinding to the beginning again and settling back down, he lay there listening, really listening, for perhaps the first time, to an album's poetry. He thought he'd understood music. He thought he'd understood the sort of lyrical poetry that only the masters of the '60s could accomplish. He'd been so wrong. Because The Smiths were singing their poetry to him, and for perhaps the first time, Rick understood.
*A double-bed
and a stalwart lover for sure
these are the riches of the poor*
The singer was poor, and Rick hadn't ever known poor, not until the house. Not until University, the clean break from his silver spoon. Not until dirty washing and cold, cold baths and scraping together enough change today so we might all eat tomorrow. Not until Vyvyan was his only rock to cling to, spending day after day wanting the tough kid who sometimes swallowed nails - the one he couldn't have.
He felt the music resonate deep inside him, pull out the emotions, pinpoint the emotions he hadn't realized he felt. The singer (what was his name? He was sure he'd heard it somewhere) repeated 'I've seen this happen in other people's lives, and now it's happening in mine.' And Rick had. And it was.
The fancy new tape player flipped to the B-side automatically. And he was drawn deeper still, found himself nodding in awe and agreement over and over again. The singer sang of heartbreak and loss and oppression and Rick understood. Not superficially, not in the silly, childish way he'd championed this cause or that in an attempt to be fashionable. This music, this singer's deep croon, was speaking to his soul. The Smiths sang about him, about his life, the life he hadn't even noticed until recently.
And then The Song had begun.
*Heifer whines could be human cries
Closer comes the screaming knife
This beautiful creature must die
This beautiful creature must die
A death for no reason
And death for no reason is MURDER*
And the chills that had been brewing along his spine extended to his whole body. Every word seemed written just for him. He blushed with shock and recognition and a sudden jealousy that he hadn't thought of it first. He'd begun crying long before the mooing began. Quiet, undisruptive tears, not for attention, not for sympathy, but because he felt true empathy for the animals, and the singer, and the human race. Really felt it, deep in the hollow of his chest, the pit of his stomach, the depth of his soul.
The album ended, the cassette clicked off, and he was alone in silence. Slowly, he got up and wandered out of the room, dazed and somewhat in shock. And while he had intended to go back to his room, he found himself heading downstairs instead. He had to find a newsstand. He had to learn more about The Smiths.
"Vyv, do you still have that Smiths album you had the other day?" Rick barrelled through Vyvyan's closed door and stood at the foot of his bed.
"So you're not knocking now?" Vyvyan didn't bother looking up from the paper he was writing.
"You never do, why should I?"
"Because it's my room!"
"That's ridiculous Vyvyan," Rick dismissed him with a wave, "Never mind that, can I borrow that cassette?"
Vyvyan tensed. It was not bloody ridiculous. But he still had three hours of homework to do and he really didn't want to get into it. It would be easier to just get rid of him and get back to work. He shrugged, reaching for it on the bookcase, "I didn't think it was worth much, I suppose you could have it if you-"
"Good! I've just finished another article on Morrissey and he's amazing. No. Awe-inspiring!"
Vyvyan stopped short and looked at him. Rick's eyes were wide with wonder and excitement, and he spoke with the fervor of a zealot. Oh. God. This was going to be insufferable. He took the cassette, not to give it to Rick, but to keep it from him. To protect himself from hearing it every moment of every day for the next year. Or longer. Dear lord, or longer.
"He's real, Vyvyan. He's authentic and hard! He's all about love and freedom and co-existing with animals and giving The Man what-for!"
"He's a loud, pseudo-intellectual opportunist who knows exactly what the press expects him to say," Vyvyan said, already intensely bored with the conversation, "I suppose it's only natural you'd fall for him."
"You don't know what you're talking about, Vyvyan, and besides you can't hate him too much, you're the one with the cassette."
"Friend of mine gave me this, I didn't buy it. Anyway, the instrumentation's all right, but Morrissey's a whinging, grandstanding git," Vyvyan held the cassette out in front of him, but didn't hand it over, "You're made for each other."
"He's a vegetarian, Vyvyan!" Rick said, as though it rebutted everything, "And he's brilliant! And he's bisexual, like us!"
"Like me," Vyvyan corrected, leaning back and crossing his arms.
"Oh, SHUT UP and give it to me!" He dove for it and the two scuffled on the bed. Vyvyan had great fun playing keep-away, laughing and scooting away on his back. He kept switching hands as Rick clambered over him, straddling him to get a better reach. Eventually Vyvyan slipped it behind him and sat on it, pretending to hold it behind his back. Rick, caught up in Vyvyan's laughter and laughing plenty himself, grabbed at Vyvyan's hands until he found them both empty.
"Did you stick it up your bottom?" Rick asked through peals of laughter. He tried to reach under him, and when that didn't work he started alternately hitting and tickling him until Vyvyan had to grab his hands and hold them. He twisted Rick's arms behind his back as Rick struggled to break free.
"Ow!" he yelped, still laughing, "That bloody hurts!"
Vyvyan ignored him and leaned forward, closing the gap between them and showering the still-cackling Rick with kisses. Rick struggled and yelped for a while longer before giving in and kissing back, still giggling.
Vyvyan released his hands and wrapped his arms around him. He looked at Rick with such a serious expression that he stopped giggling.
"You are absolutely not allowed to go celibate," Vyvyan said sternly.
Rick pulled a face, "Eeugh, no! I wasn't even thinking about it! I mean I respect the man's right to his principles, but honestly that's just bloody insane!"
Vyvyan gave him the cassette.
~~~~
And thus did King bloody fucking Morrissey dethrone King Cliff bloody fucking Richard. And posters were replaced, and concerts were attended, and abysmal poetry was written, and conversations were drawn out and boring. And there was no rejoicing, certainly not from Vyvyan. Even if he did like Johnny Marr. And several of their songs were bloody catchy, and a few might have reminded him, just a little, of a couple of guys he knew.
There may have been some slight, private rejoicing. But don't spread it around, right?