A/N: This story is entirely Twinks's fault. I was going to class peacefully, when she started singing Gimme Danger. That coupled with her insistence that Curt is a total loser made sure that he would plague my thoughts all through class. It's a proven fact that when Curt Wild is dancing though one's head one cannot concentrate on Mesopotamia. And then my professor started talking about "whorish olive oil" and primitive hallucinogens and completely lost me… So hence, this posting. Any complaints about it should go to her (or my Western Civ teacher)… Compliments to me, of course. LOL.
Breakfast
He was late. That was no surprise; the surprise was that he showed up at all. He had been so close to saying screw it and going back to bed. He needed his beauty sleep. After all, he had a gig that night at a club- a gig that would surely yield some smack. The only thing stopping him from retreating into the dark cocoon that was his bed was the memory of that kid's warm hand gripping his, his eyes shining with something akin to awe.
His head felt like his drummer was inside, pounding on his skins, trying to imitate music. His stomach churned as he climbed the steps to the hotel and Curt hadn't gone two feet through the doors when he decided he'd made a horrible mistake in leaving his cavernous room.
The kid- a man really; he could have been older than him for all Curt knew- and his manager waited at a table at the other side of the room. Curt forced his legs to take the last few steps, then stood before them without even a hint of a smile.
"Curt," Brian said, face flushing with excitement as Curt approached the table.
A rush of sensation hit him hard as the young man looked up at him. His eyes were shining and a delicate blush stained his cheeks. His lips were beautiful, full and luscious. Kissable, Curt thought absurdly. Brian's perfume, light and sweet, surrounded him, making Curt wonderfully lightheaded.
"Hey," he said lazily, fighting the feelings that suddenly rose up in him as he slumped down into his seat. "Sorry I'm late," he added uncomfortably, not used to apologizing for anything, much less being barely ten minutes late to a meeting he had almost skipped.
"Did you have trouble finding the hotel?" Brian asked.
Curt barely restrained his temper. From anyone else, that would have been an insult, an insinuation that he wasn't good enough for the ritzy hotel. But from Brian… It seemed like genuine curiosity, mingled with concern. Curt swallowed his anger and said simply, "No. I slept in."
Brian's face fell a little. His lips parted, as if to say something, but Jerry cut in. "Well, lets order and get down to business."
The waiter arrived as if on cue, bringing three glasses of champagne. Curt only ordered orange juice; it was supposed to settle stomachs and calm the shakes. Curt had to bite back a laugh at Brian's order of whole wheat toast, an omelet and milk. A balanced breakfast. The kid hadn't ceased to amaze him.
The three sipped their champagne in uncomfortable silence. "So," Curt began a moment after the waiter left, "why did you want to meet?"
The excited look flashed onto Brian's face again; he looked suddenly like a little boy, wide blue green eyes shining in anticipation. "We've had the most wonderful idea, Curt. You must agree!"
Jerry cut him off again. "What Brian means to say is, we have a proposal we believe you may be interested in."
Curt wasn't listening to Jerry's inane babbling. It was much more interesting to watch Brian. He was watching Jerry intently, like his life depended on what the older man said.
He was so beautiful. Curt had been too high to notice the night before. But that was what the drugs were for, after all. They drowned out the feeling, muted it. The screaming agony was dulled and the memories ceased. He no longer saw his brother in the bathroom, leering, or his mother's face twisted in hatred and disgust. The hot sting of electric shocks finally faded. In the place of the pain there was a void, blissful emptiness that was all consuming.
Brian's eyes moved to him, catching his glance, and Curt was shook to the core. There was hope in Brian's eyes, raw and real, mixed with shy affection and hot lust. And suddenly Curt didn't want the drugs. With the gorgeous creature before him, he wanted to feel. He wanted to be more than he was: a junkie wash-out. He didn't need the drugs to dull the memories. Brian could give him new memories, warm as the hand that had grasped Curt's the night before and sweet as Brian's perfume.
It had been a long time since Curt had felt anything deeper than desire for another person. The feeling left him open, vulnerable. But he suddenly couldn't care less. The kid could save him. He knew it like he knew that the sky was blue. With that golden man at his side, he could do anything.
"…Brian would serve- possibly but not exclusively as… We're taking our lead from you here, Curt," Jerry said, and Curt snapped back to attention, moving his eyes to Jerry. "Possibly as producer on that project, how might that scenario- purely hypothetically- how might that scenario appeal to you at this juncture?"
He was about to ask him what the hell he was talking about when Brian offered with a roll of his eyes, "What Jerry means is, do you want to come to London to cut a record?"
"Oh, yeah, cool," Curt replied with out hesitating.
Jerry smiled, pleased. "Very good."
Brian didn't seem quite so mollified. "But… But how can we help you? You must tell us. What do you need?"
He heard Jerry's foot collide with Brian's boot under the table, but he ignored the signal. Honesty was always Curt's policy, and he felt no different now. "Everything." He took a deep breath and continued. "See, heroine was my main man. But now I'm on the methadone and I'm getting my act together and you come here and say you wanna help, and I say, far out, cool." His eyes went to Brian's. "You could be my main man."
Brian smiled, his eyes lighting up. He held out his hand for Curt to shake, sealing the deal, and Curt did so firmly, reveling in the newfound warmth that radiated from Brian's every smile, every touch.
Breakfast
He was late. That was no surprise; the surprise was that he showed up at all. He had been so close to saying screw it and going back to bed. He needed his beauty sleep. After all, he had a gig that night at a club- a gig that would surely yield some smack. The only thing stopping him from retreating into the dark cocoon that was his bed was the memory of that kid's warm hand gripping his, his eyes shining with something akin to awe.
His head felt like his drummer was inside, pounding on his skins, trying to imitate music. His stomach churned as he climbed the steps to the hotel and Curt hadn't gone two feet through the doors when he decided he'd made a horrible mistake in leaving his cavernous room.
The kid- a man really; he could have been older than him for all Curt knew- and his manager waited at a table at the other side of the room. Curt forced his legs to take the last few steps, then stood before them without even a hint of a smile.
"Curt," Brian said, face flushing with excitement as Curt approached the table.
A rush of sensation hit him hard as the young man looked up at him. His eyes were shining and a delicate blush stained his cheeks. His lips were beautiful, full and luscious. Kissable, Curt thought absurdly. Brian's perfume, light and sweet, surrounded him, making Curt wonderfully lightheaded.
"Hey," he said lazily, fighting the feelings that suddenly rose up in him as he slumped down into his seat. "Sorry I'm late," he added uncomfortably, not used to apologizing for anything, much less being barely ten minutes late to a meeting he had almost skipped.
"Did you have trouble finding the hotel?" Brian asked.
Curt barely restrained his temper. From anyone else, that would have been an insult, an insinuation that he wasn't good enough for the ritzy hotel. But from Brian… It seemed like genuine curiosity, mingled with concern. Curt swallowed his anger and said simply, "No. I slept in."
Brian's face fell a little. His lips parted, as if to say something, but Jerry cut in. "Well, lets order and get down to business."
The waiter arrived as if on cue, bringing three glasses of champagne. Curt only ordered orange juice; it was supposed to settle stomachs and calm the shakes. Curt had to bite back a laugh at Brian's order of whole wheat toast, an omelet and milk. A balanced breakfast. The kid hadn't ceased to amaze him.
The three sipped their champagne in uncomfortable silence. "So," Curt began a moment after the waiter left, "why did you want to meet?"
The excited look flashed onto Brian's face again; he looked suddenly like a little boy, wide blue green eyes shining in anticipation. "We've had the most wonderful idea, Curt. You must agree!"
Jerry cut him off again. "What Brian means to say is, we have a proposal we believe you may be interested in."
Curt wasn't listening to Jerry's inane babbling. It was much more interesting to watch Brian. He was watching Jerry intently, like his life depended on what the older man said.
He was so beautiful. Curt had been too high to notice the night before. But that was what the drugs were for, after all. They drowned out the feeling, muted it. The screaming agony was dulled and the memories ceased. He no longer saw his brother in the bathroom, leering, or his mother's face twisted in hatred and disgust. The hot sting of electric shocks finally faded. In the place of the pain there was a void, blissful emptiness that was all consuming.
Brian's eyes moved to him, catching his glance, and Curt was shook to the core. There was hope in Brian's eyes, raw and real, mixed with shy affection and hot lust. And suddenly Curt didn't want the drugs. With the gorgeous creature before him, he wanted to feel. He wanted to be more than he was: a junkie wash-out. He didn't need the drugs to dull the memories. Brian could give him new memories, warm as the hand that had grasped Curt's the night before and sweet as Brian's perfume.
It had been a long time since Curt had felt anything deeper than desire for another person. The feeling left him open, vulnerable. But he suddenly couldn't care less. The kid could save him. He knew it like he knew that the sky was blue. With that golden man at his side, he could do anything.
"…Brian would serve- possibly but not exclusively as… We're taking our lead from you here, Curt," Jerry said, and Curt snapped back to attention, moving his eyes to Jerry. "Possibly as producer on that project, how might that scenario- purely hypothetically- how might that scenario appeal to you at this juncture?"
He was about to ask him what the hell he was talking about when Brian offered with a roll of his eyes, "What Jerry means is, do you want to come to London to cut a record?"
"Oh, yeah, cool," Curt replied with out hesitating.
Jerry smiled, pleased. "Very good."
Brian didn't seem quite so mollified. "But… But how can we help you? You must tell us. What do you need?"
He heard Jerry's foot collide with Brian's boot under the table, but he ignored the signal. Honesty was always Curt's policy, and he felt no different now. "Everything." He took a deep breath and continued. "See, heroine was my main man. But now I'm on the methadone and I'm getting my act together and you come here and say you wanna help, and I say, far out, cool." His eyes went to Brian's. "You could be my main man."
Brian smiled, his eyes lighting up. He held out his hand for Curt to shake, sealing the deal, and Curt did so firmly, reveling in the newfound warmth that radiated from Brian's every smile, every touch.