Harlequin's Slash Fic

Beautiful Things

Title: Beautiful Things
Author: Julien
Universe: Velvet Goldmine
Characters featured: Curt Wild/Brian Slade
Category, Word count: Short story; 2498 words
Rating: NC17
Summary: An exploration of Curt and Brian’s love affair, starting when they sneak away from the orgy to be alone together, but ending bitterly.
Warnings: Includes some non-consensual sex, and the effects of Brian’s drug use.
First published: 22 April 2004 in Homosapien 7

 

Beautiful Things

 

The world is changed because you are made of ivory and gold.
The curves of your lips rewrite history.

 

Curt Wild walked slowly down the hotel corridor, alone, feeling so full and warm with love and lust that he thought he must actually be glowing. There was the door to the bedroom of Brian’s suite. Curt silently pushed the handle down, let the door drift open. The room was all white and gold – ornate, Brian had called it, knowing the name of the design and everything, who had invented it in what time and place – but all Curt knew was that it was the perfect place in which to seduce Brian Slade, who was of course ivory and gold and ornate himself.

All the lights were on, so that the room glowed in just the same way that Curt himself was glowing. He walked in, wandered past the bed and past the table, and then ambled around in a circle because there was nowhere else to go. What a contrast this was to what was happening in the suite down the hall, where twenty or thirty mostly–naked bodies were writhing together in dimness. A genuine orgy – Ya gotta love rock ‘n’ roll. But here Curt was, alone and glowing, in a beautiful room, hoping for the company of one particular beautiful man.

Something made him look up, though he hadn’t heard or glimpsed anything. Brian was standing in the doorway, managing to look both full of lust and full of control all at once. Curt smiled, glad that Brian had understood the look Curt had given him, glad that Brian had followed him here.

They gazed at each other for a moment. And then Brian stepped inside, and closed the door behind him. Slowly they walked towards each other, meeting at the corner of the bed. Gazing all the while; Brian’s beautiful blue eyes both naked with need and completely mysterious, and even betraying a hint of nervousness.

Then they were kissing. A meeting of hungry mouths, their hands undemanding on each other’s waists and shoulders. They had kissed before, many times. Many many wonderful times. They had even slept together once or twice, Brian in pyjamas and Curt still in his clothes. But they hadn’t had sex yet.

Curt wasn’t entirely sure why, though he suspected that they’d simply wanted to be in love for a while. The actual falling in love had happened in an instant, there had been no doubt of it, no question that they weren’t both feeling the same way. So maybe they’d just wanted to stay there for a while. Perhaps sex, for both of them, had become too easy, too everyday, and this was something different, something more.

The nervousness returned for a moment as Curt’s tongue pressed home, taking possession of Brian’s mouth; Brian’s hands clutched at Curt, and a gasp ran through him, before Brian surrendered to the plundering. Kinda odd, Curt thought – because apart from the fact that they’d already kissed each other every which way there was, Curt knew that Brian was experienced when it came to sex. Very experienced. In fact, Curt was sure that Brian had fucked with every single person currently playing in the orgy they’d left behind – obviously including his wife Mandy, but also his manager Jerry Devine, and no doubt all the groupies and hangers–on, both the boys and the girls … Well, with the possible exception of the poor innocent girl Shannon, who Jerry was currently debauching.

When the kiss broke, though, Brian’s arrogance and certainty were back in control. He smiled at Curt, lip curling in lusty delight. The bed waited there, impatient to welcome them – they fell across it together, beginning to move and push against each other, joining in ways that were new between them.

Their breath was already coming hard, the rasping and the sighs magic to Curt’s ears in the quiet of the room. He began fumbling with their clothes, suddenly desperate to feel Brian’s silken skin against his own. Brian lay there, not cooperating, but he was smiling with happy indulgence. Kneeling up to unbutton his own pants, Curt watched Brian’s face, absorbing yet another of the million expressions Brian saved for when they were alone – to the world, Brian Slade and his stage persona Maxwell Demon could be the most aloof creatures on the planet, though Curt had always seen Brian’s truth despite the masks. Aloof – Brian had taught him that word, and it described him perfectly. But when he was alone with Curt, there was nothing but this changeable face betraying all his emotions, all his secrets.

The leather pants had been peeled away and thrown to lie with Brian’s shirt and jeans. And Curt simply fell on the man, too needy to even look at what had been revealed. His body explored it, though, while his mouth fed on Brian’s and his eyes drank up his beauty. Curt’s chest pressed skin against skin tender and hot, his legs wove with legs slimmer than his own, his hips gyrated against hips narrower, his cock danced with a cock smaller but just as hard …

Lifting his head for a moment, Curt let out a laugh, celebrating who they were and what they were about to do. It was their first time, and Curt was full of the urge to take this man and make him his own. He looked down at Brian’s serious face. ‘Lemme have you,’ he asked.

Brian closed his eyes for a moment, and then nodded without opening them. The seriousness didn’t go away, and again there was a hint of nervousness – but his cock kicked against Curt’s, as eager as his own, and then Brian’s thighs were opening like a flower unfolding, revealing and surrendering himself to Curt, and Brian’s legs were sliding around Curt’s waist, wantonly caressing him even though Brian had turned his face away. Curt found the place and pushed home –

– gasping, Brian arched off the bed, forcing his head back into the pillows, grimacing in shock and pleasure. Tight, so tight that it was painful for a moment, and Curt cursed himself for assuming Brian couldn’t possibly be a virgin. ‘Brian love,’ he groaned in an agony of guilt and triumph.

But then he broke through, and Brian fell back, and suddenly everything was easy. Still playing the part, Brian’s face was flushed and taut. He grabbed weakly at a pillow, hid beneath it – but Curt chuckled, burrowed after him, kissed him wildly. And they fucked. The orgasm was the most incredible trip Curt had ever had …

Afterwards they lay together, naked and tender in each other’s arms. ‘Idiot,’ Curt said fondly once he’d gotten his breath back. ‘Playing games, and it’s our first time!’

‘I fooled you,’ Brian replied, complacent. He lazily circled Curt’s nipple with one finger.

‘Yeah, you did. First time for that, too.’ Curt kissed him again, figuring he’d never get enough of Brian’s gorgeously pouty mouth. ‘So what game do we play next?’ Curt murmured later, as their bodies began stirring again.

‘I don’t know,’ came the raw whispered reply.

And Brian was right there, his heart in his mouth, his soul in his eyes, all artifice forgotten as he began letting loose in ways that made Curt think of wolves and lizards and other wild creatures … The world fell away from them.

 

Often, Brian Slade would make love as if that was art, too: something to pose for. Sometimes it was as if he saw the film of their love–making in his head, and he was framing it, designing it, while he was acting in it. And that was fun, even when he got mad at Curt for not taking direction. But sometimes Curt just wanted to leap in, let rip, and fuck like animals … Thankfully, on occasion, Brian wanted that, too.

 

The extravaganza of the Maxwell Demon tour was taking its toll on Brian. Curt watched him, seeing cracks in the facade that everyone else seemed determined to ignore. Even Brian himself. And what could Curt do? He was no nursemaid.

Meanwhile Brian got teary at the slightest scrap of conflict, which was kinda dumb when most of the fights were started by Brian anyway. And he hardly ever seemed to sleep. He and Curt would sit up late together in Brian’s hotel room watching old black–and–white movies on the TV, and Curt would fall asleep sprawled out on the sofa or on the bed at Brian’s side – and Brian would still be awake the next morning when Curt opened bleary eyes to static or the morning news.

‘Touring’s always hard,’ Curt offered late one night. ‘There’s good stuff, but there’s always a whole lotta shit and aggravation, too.’

Those bruised eyes shifted towards him, though the pale face barely moved. ‘But it must be easier for you.’

‘Why? Why’d you say that?’

‘Because it’s not a pose for you, is it? You’re Curt Wild, and that’s all.’

‘No, of course it’s not a pose. And it’s not for you, either.’

‘Don’t be stupid, Curt,’ Brian said in his best you–were–born–in–a–trailer–park tones. Darling arrogant prat that he was. ‘The whole thing is a pose. It’s all artifice. Surface with no meaning.’

‘They might think that’s all it is,’ Curt insisted, ‘but it isn’t. It’s you.’

‘Maxwell is me …?’ Brian looked away, impatient and hurt and annoyed, tears in his eyes yet again. ‘No, even the name – Cecil came up with the name. Something about physics and Lord Kelvin or something. I don’t know.’

‘Well, the music is yours. The sex is yours. The indulgence is yours, and the truth. You’re the bravest guy I ever met, getting up there and putting yourself on the line like that. So what if they think it’s a pose?’

‘But what if I do, too …?’

Curt stared at the guy, wondering how the fuck to answer that.

 

‘An honest man is the harshest mirror.’

Curt hardly even glanced at his lover, tired of these oh–so–damned–clever quotes. The only thing Curt could remember from school was E=mc2, but that didn’t go down too well at parties. Finally he asked, ‘Yeah? Who said that?’

But Brian just glared at him.

 

An afternoon before a gig; Brian late for a sound–check; Jerry swearing and cursing and fuming like he really meant it for once.

Curt just turned and walked away, and went looking for his love – found him sprawled alone on a bed in an unused hotel room on the floor they’d booked out, obviously hiding. Out of his mind on cocaine. The cold blues and greys of the room seemed to be reflected on Brian’s naked skin.

Carefully, Curt sat beside the man and brushed gentle fingers down that pale cheek. This tour had become hell–on–earth. Even though the two of them had spent hours together, days together, they rarely talked now, it seemed they rarely even looked at each other any more, and Curt wasn’t sure whether to respond to the yearning on Brian’s face or the frozen rejection in his eyes.

Beautiful Brian … Curt laid his palm against the man’s throat – and then his heart wrenched in grief as he felt the coolness, recognised that the blue hues were more than just the make–up and the Maxwell Demon hair. ‘Brian …’ he whispered. ‘Brian love.’

The only response was a cold stare, aloof in a way that Curt used to be exempt from. And yet Brian was still so beautiful, so perfect, so desirable. It was almost unnatural, how beautiful he was.

‘You’ll catch a chill – here, lemme warm you,’ Curt was murmuring before he could think twice about it. Shedding his clothes. ‘I’ll warm you up, I’ll bring you back.’

Brian just lay there; let Curt gather him up, let Curt press kisses against the icy skin. A cocaine–fuelled erection pressed hard and cold against Curt’s thigh.

‘Lemme in, lemme have you, Brian, lemme inside, I’ll warm you.’

They fucked. Or, more to the point, Curt fucked his love, and Brian might have been nothing more than a beautiful porcelain doll. The most beautiful damned doll in the world. The fuck lasted a painful long time, with no reaction from Brian, not even a twitch of that ice–bound prick, not a drop of ice cream from it, not even an icicle drip. Curt’s orgasm was forced, horrible – but even that didn’t hurt as much as the way Brian turned away afterwards. The first move he’d made since Curt came to the room, and it was simply to roll away.

Curt hauled himself up to sit against the massed pillows, and lit a cigarette, vaguely thinking of reminding Brian about the sound–check. Deciding not to mention Jerry’s tantrums, the band’s resentments. He sighed as he stared at the mound of coke on the bedside table.

‘This is your fault,’ Brian said.

‘No. No, it isn’t. I’ve been clean since before I met you –’

Cold, implacable: ‘This is your fault.’

‘No, goddamn it to hell, you’re not going to push me away. You’re getting rid of everyone else who cares about you, one by one, but I’m not going anywhere.’

‘Aren’t you?’ Stony.

Curt discovered that he was shaking, and wondered if it was hurt or anger or maybe withdrawal causing it. Withdrawal from Brian Slade, a worse addiction than the heroin had been. ‘Love,’ Curt said, hardly knowing himself whether it was an endearment or a reminder of the stakes they were playing for. ‘Love …’

Brian ignored him; the pale slim back was cold and completely uninterested, and plenty eloquent enough.

Slowly, Curt stood from the bed, got himself dressed. Slowly, because he was still shaking, and he didn’t want to do anything foolish such as trip over his jeans as he was putting them on, or fall on Brian and cover him with desperate kisses, or just damn well smash the window and throw himself to the sidewalk five stories below.

‘Love …’

Curt didn’t even realise he’d spoken, until Brian replied, ‘Get out.’

‘Brian –’

‘I despise you,’ Brian told him with clinical precision. ‘I’ve despised you since the night I first saw you.’

‘Liar!’

Shaking again, but this time Curt didn’t restrain himself – he strode back to the bed, and slammed his fist into that most beautiful of faces, that most gorgeous of masks. Which didn’t break. It didn’t even crack.

And Curt walked out, trembling so bad that he thought for a moment of earthquakes – desperately wishing Brian would call him back. Walking away, knowing Brian wanted it that way. Knowing it wasn’t even over yet, knowing there was still so much pain to go through. Knowing it would come close to killing them both.

 

Put out the torches.
Hide the moon. Hide the stars.

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