O.D.
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the character's from Todd Haynes' Velvet Goldmine.
This fic is rated for, as the more discerning among you may have guessed, drug abuse.
A/N: read and review people! I have shiny things! Review and they could be yours…
-tempts-
Curt could never stand people who questioned Heroin. "Don't knock it, if you haven't tried it." That's what he always told them. Just then, though, he couldn't be all too concerned with anything that anyone else though or did. The divine nectar of the Gods was flaring like a line of effervescent matches through his veins, scorching every nerve tip it passed until his whole body was a blaze.
The only reason, the thought dizzyingly occurred to him, that Dorian Gray had been an opium-fiend was that 19th century England had not had Heroin. Otherwise…Oh God, who could resist?
He had known, as he had plunged the needle deep into his arm that there was more there than he had ever taken before. But what harm could it do him? His eyes had rolled back in his head, lost in the waves of boundless rapture that the drug brought him. He had wanted to open his mouth and scream his euphoria to the World but had checked himself at the last second. This was his own private nirvana, not to be sullied by prying eyes or ears.
Curt was quite content to be alone in his clandestine paradise; he had been since he was sixteen years old. Why should that change?
A rainbow exploded above his head, scattering tiny stars over his burning flesh. They seared through his body, laying bare his bleached and battered bones. His skull wore a grin of manic amusement, watching with empty black sockets as the muscles, skin, organs melted away. Just as the last scraps of human flesh dissolved, green strands began to wrap themselves about the skeleton that remained. Vines slid through his ribs and pulled tight around each bones, strangling them. The Eden to which he ran was reclaiming him. Every leaf was a viridian flame of Hell, swallowing him even as he released himself to their hold. Take me, I'm yours. What was left of his body begged. Pressure rocked his mind as he felt his bones snap amid their bonds, his blood vessels burst pouring cool soothing blood across his blazing nerves.
It had never come so quickly before…the feeling that his brain was boiling, writhing in an acid lagoon, toxic green. He felt the cogs of his heart grinding against one another, pushing him inexorably further into his concrete grave, crushing him to dust as they went.
Well, he was not quite alone. Not this time. He rolled over, tugged back and forth in the sway of his warm ocean, and gazed at the Adonis lying beside him. A child of no earthly Gods was this. The otherworldly glow that hovered about the prostrate form seemed about to lift it from the ground. Curt reached out and seized a thin, pale wrist, afraid that his nymph would be wafted away, enveloped in the currents that swirled hazily around them.
He only a little puzzled to feel no flutter of life contained beneath his fingertips. Still, perhaps his darling had no veins at present, no veins, no pulse. The idea seemed perfectly acceptable to him and he decided not to worry unduly over it. That thin, red line dribbling unimaginably slowly from the corner of his beloved's mouth amused him for a moment. He wondered briefly who had put it there and why it was going so slowly. Didn't it have anywhere to be? He did. Oh well, not something to worry about just then, not when the Sun was shining so brightly and the snow was falling so pleasantly outside, blanketing him in a quilt of ice and soft white sugar. So sweet. He wanted Brian to see the snow, felt angry that he had not noticed. He experienced, for the first time, the childish urge to play in the snow. He would not play alone. Brian would come with him. They would run and laugh and throw balls of the cold white stuff at each other. They would build funny, stumpy men with coal for eyes and great big smiles made of strawberries and marshmallows. He tugged at Brian's wrist but got no response. Come on, Brian, I want to play. With supreme effort, Curt hoisted himself up onto his hands and leant over Brian. Brain had pretty red on his face. Shiny red lines were all over his lips, from his nose to his chin. Curt touched one of them and his finger came away glistening with purple spangles. Brian bleeds glitter, he thought, as he passed out, head lying peacefully on his lover's still chest.
A/N: do people want another chapter, detailing what happens when Curt awakes from his drug-induced stupor? Let me know if you do. Review peoples! If you don't want a second chapter, why not? Constructive criticism is what it's all about people!