Summary: Caitlyn Gellar doubted Shane Grey knew what love was, much less how to make it.
Disclaimer: I do not own Camp Rock.
Dedication: porcelian-doll, whose stories inspired this one.
Author's Note: Notes on this story can be found on my homepage, StillsAndPhotographs(dot)webs(dot)com.
Love
Shane Grey made love, because he was Shane Grey and if that's what he called it, that's what it was. Shane Grey made love, because that's what his record company would let him sing songs about.
Mitchie Torres made love, because she was acoustic guitars and sugary vocals, and "fucking" thudded from her pretty mouth like a drunken best friend from a car.
Caitlyn Gellar fucked, because she doubted Shane Grey even knew what love was, much less how to make it. Caitlyn Gellar fucked, because love was coffee shops and champagne and poetry and starlight, not green room couches and warm beer and harsh florescent lighting. Caitlyn Gellar fucked, because "making love" was bullshit, and life is pain, Highness – anyone who says differently is selling something (probably a Connect 3 album).
Mitchie Torres was a girlfriend and a musical equal.
Caitlyn Gellar was a groupie and a backup dancer.
Shane Grey made love to both of them, because Mitchie Torres was all soft curves and lithe limbs and midnight melodies and Caitlyn Gellar was all chiseled angles and impossible flexibility and rock rhythms.
Caitlyn Gellar was skinny jeans and cigarettes and body glitter that covered everything she touched with a layer of fairy dust.
Shane Grey was washboard abs and shirtless scenes and covered in Caitlyn's shimmer when he met Mitchie at the airport terminal.
Mitchie Torres was not pleased.
From that day on, Shane Grey wants Caitlyn Gellar to make love, because Shane Grey doesn't just fuck his girlfriends. So Caitlyn Gellar asks Shane Grey to make love to her and secretly wonders how he will make love out of the ugly bedspread and the windowless hotel room and the strange city. She tries to pretend his cologne masks the scent of vomit in the pillows and her head is bubbly with champagne and poetry and decides that fucking is easier than pretending to make love.
But from that day on, Caitlyn Gellar "makes love," because he's Shane Grey and if that's what he calls it, that's what it is.
The End.