Title: Calling
Author: tarotgal
Fandom: Velvet Goldmine
Rating: PG13 for horrible language,
mentions of sex and Curt-angst
Warnings: In addition to the
above, homosexuality/bisexuality, incest, lovely loose morals, sexy boys in
leather and glitter and nothing at all. See the movie. Yeah. That just about covers
it I think. *nods*
Disclaimer: The boys are not mine.
They're Todd Haynes', the lucky bloke. And *checks video box* Miramax and Goldwyn
Films, I guess. Lyric and quote notes are at the end of the fic
Summary: Curt's
sick and brooding alone. Brian's, well, being Brian.
Notes: Written as Friday Fic #11
and for the sneezefic Weekly Hatching week #6
More notes: This is only my second
attempt at writing the boys. I still don't really have them down even nearly as
well as I would like. Thus, parts of this go into my own interpretation of them
which is still fuzzy at best... I apologize for anything drastically OOC
|
Calling
Leave
it to Brian to buy a VCR before anyone else in the world. 'Course they'd been
out since '72, but who the hell actually had one? Only people like Brian. He
brought it over a couple of weeks back, so they could watch tapes of Brian's
performances and news pieces. That's all there was to watch on it. Just a
couple of tapes of Maxwell Demon impressing his shrieking fans with his flashy make-up
and extravagances. Problem was, Brian tried too hard to have that flash. When
it wasn't the flash at all that was important. Curt
rolled over in bed, an arm bent at his waist. Half-curled on his side, he
coughed harshly, with deep, rich rasps that revealed how much he smoked. Except
that he wasn't coughing from that. His other hand reached down past his bare
torso, and past his black leather pants, to grab at the covers. He pulled them
up to his shoulder with a shudder as the coughing slowly passed. "Come
on, Brian," he whispered in the darkness of the room. "Get the hell back here."
Watching the images dancing and twirling on the television screen wasn't
helping in the least. He still felt alone, still felt sick. But the image was
of Brian... and it gave a warm blue and gold glow down onto the bed in the
otherwise pitch black bedroom. But
the more he waited, trying to feel entertained by videos, the less he expected
Brian to actually show up. It was growing late, and the concert had to be over
already. Brian would be off with any number of people, shagging himself silly
to relieve the tension and revel in the excitement of being on stage. Nowhere
in his mind would be Curt, lying in bed, feeling sick, trying to be good. Brian
had told him he was running a fever, and with the way he felt now, Curt didn't
doubt it. Brian had told him he was sick. Brian had told him to lay off the
cigarettes and the junk and the alcohol. And Brian had told him to stay home
and stay in bed because he definitely wouldn't be performing in his present
condition. Curt couldn't see how standing in the back of a crowded auditorium
would hurt him any, but he'd obeyed. Brian had given him a kiss and offered
himself over. And in the excitement of that, overpowered by his urges and his
fever, Curt had agreed. Didn't matter that by the time they needed to leave,
Curt was already asleep and very glad not to have gone to the concert anyway.
He'd expected Brian to come back to his place after the concert. He frequently
stayed over. All his really good clothes resided there now. But Curt couldn't
remember Brian actually coming out and saying he would. Which most likely meant
he wouldn't. "Fuuuuck," Curt groaned, rubbing the base of his palm
against his forehead. It hurt to think. Hurt to breathe. Hurt to move. He
couldn't figure out what Brian would do to help him even if the singer were
there, but he still wanted him. Brian kept him sane. Brian soothed his nerves.
Brian was the whole damn reason he was in Too
tired to react, Curt felt a sneeze building in his nose. Had he the energy, he
would have cursed at it, too. But he'd been sneezing so much since he came down
with his cold that by now he didn't much care. Let the sneeze come. In fact, he
dared it to. He could take it. He'd been sneezing all afternoon, after all. "hahhhh..." he breathed out slowly and shakily.
It was taking over his body completely making him curl and turn into the covers
more. He felt like coughing, but the oncoming sneeze was too strong to wait. "hahhKshunnn!" There was another sneeze there, but
the coughing overpowered him. He turned his face into the pillow, coughing into
it until his chest and throat together calmed. Once they did, however, he still
felt the need to cough, for the intense pressure and congestion in his nose. Feeling
that he would be better once he blew his nose, he reached up and grabbed the
tissue box. He ripped the first one he tried to pull out and cursed at the
cheap, flimsy tissues. If he'd known he was going to get sick, he would have
bought better ones. But it came upon him so suddenly, and he sure as hell
didn't feel like getting dressed and going out for some now. He dug his hand
into the box, ripping the cardboard to give himself better access. Then he
pulled out a half dozen tissues at once, buried his nose in the mass, and blew
hard as many times as it took for the need to cough to back off. It
finally did, and he dropped the box onto the bed and the tissues over the side
of the bed. He felt warm again. Hot, actually. He kicked down the covers and
unzipped his pants. They were tight and clingy, and nearly as hard to get off
as they were to get on. Curt simply didn't have the energy for that. He rolled
onto his back with a light cough and a snuffley sort
of snort. He rubbed the back of his hand against his nose roughly, then relaxed
and tried not to move lest he never cool down. It
felt like he was still under covers, or at least wearing several layers and
standing under the floodlights on stage. But, no, he was in bed with the lights
off, nearly naked, and still soaking the sheets with sweat. He hated feeling
like this. Sweating and aching always made him remember the moments after
electroshock therapy. And that always made him feel wired and panicked and
worse. "Brian..."
he whispered. A cold shiver passed through him, starting in his hands and feet
and culminating in his shoulders. He grabbed the blankets and pulled them back
up. He curled back up on his side, pulling the covers around himself for
warmth. He wanted a shot of whiskey, or even just a mug of beer. Anything to
take the chill out of his bones and relax him again. Visions of the white
hallways and hospital beds filled his mind. The sensation of leather
restraints. The sound of tortured screams. The smell of people lying in their
own sick. He shivered again and gave a moan, pushing past his long tangles of
blond hair to clap his hand to his forehead. It was throbbing. He was aching.
He was sick. "Brian, get the fuck back here," he pleaded. "I'm going insane." Not
that he could blame Brian in the least for going out. He had a concert to do,
after all. He was contractually bound. And Curt... he'd never given his word to
Curt about anything. Not even leaving Mandy. Curt was stupid to think Brian
would care enough about him to return. On a normal day Curt was a fun time, a
wild mate, a good fuck. But sick, Curt was nothing but a mess. Certainly not as
appealing as hundreds of adoring fans who wanted to get down his pants and lick
the glitter from his body after a concert. Certainly not as beautiful as this
image Brian had built up of him in his mind. No, Brian was the star now, and
Curt was nothing. Another
sneeze built in his nose, and Curt lifted his head, so as not to sneeze all
over his chest. He didn't bother with tissues. Didn't care, really. There was
no one there to catch his cold, and no one to watch him sneeze freely in the
dark bedroom. "uhhhh..." The breath was deep and hard, pulling
at his weak body. He clutched the covers closer, feeling miserable already and
ten times worse when he had to sneeze. Forgetting all those thoughts about
being strong, he gave a bit of a whimper at the sneeze' approach. Then he closed
his eyes, preparing himself for it. "huhYIHShhhh! EhShhhnnn! KShhhnnn! KShuhh! Ughh..." He rubbed the
back of his hand against his wet nose, then grabbed for the tissues, getting a
couple from the ripped box, and dropping a couple more along the way. He
blew his nose a couple of times, then immediately tensed up again. "Oh fuck
me," he muttered. He had to sneeze again. Badly. The tickle was like fire,
burning in his nose, demanding satisfaction. On some level, he realized how
good it would feel to get the sneeze out, or maybe it was just out of comfort
for it was almost always how he slept, but he slipped one hand into his pants.
His other hand of course was still with the tissues, clutching them to his
nose. Curt didn't give a damn about sneezing unrestrainedly, but since he
already had the tissues he was going to use them. "ehhh..." The sneeze started with the same shaky, deep breath. But the
sneeze stayed back, filling his nose and filling his body. Every muscle in his
body was tense, his chest rose and fell hard as breaths continued to try and
build the sneeze up to release. "uhhh... huh... ehh-hehhhhh..." He was desperate to sneeze now, knowing
it was going to be strong, knowing that it was going to take everything out of
him. Sneezing was like fucking. Or like performing. It didn't mean anything
unless it robbed you of strength and humanity and sanity. It was involuntary.
It was debilitating. And yet, it was thrilling. Thrilling and beautiful and
satisfying. "Come on- ehhh-
you little fucker," he muttered, his voice muffled into the tissues and his
hand. He was ready and waiting. He just wanted it over with. "heh... ehhh..." And
then his breaths and heart began to race. There it was. Finally. Ready to
strike. Ready to come. "heh-uh-eh-HEHKTShhhh! ehhhShuhhhhnn!"
He coughed and quickly blew his nose again. The sneezes had jerked him about as
though in spasms. Weak and tired, he hadn't cared to brace himself so long as
they finally got out. He blew his nose and tossed away the tissues, losing them
to the deep shag carpet. It
was like a dance. A strange, sick dance. The spasms shaking him against the bed
the way he writhed and inched his way across the stage on his back during a
show. The repetition of tensing and sneezing and going weak like the chorus of
a disturbing song. And the dull moments in between where he coughed and
shivered or watched the television were like verses, never knowing quite what
would happen and they helped to build towards the chorus. But the song seemed
never-ending. No matter how bad he felt or how many times he sneezed, he didn't
seem to feel any better afterwards, or at the next time. In fact, he felt
worse. Curt
was glad Brian wasn't there to see him, shivering under the covers and shaking
unattractively. Wasn't as bad as when he came off the Heroin, but Brian hadn't been
there to see that either. Brian just saw him afterwards. Brian had picked him
up when he most needed someone. Brian was trying to get him back on his feet.
And here he was back again in bed sick and shivery and alone. He
wasn't Curt Wild like this. He was someone else. That someone he had been in
those days of his youth when his brother had serviced him in the middle of the
night and he lay there, enjoying and hating it all at once. He wasn't a rat, he
wasn't a wolf, he wasn't a singer. He was nothing like this. Just a useless
body with a clouded, feverish mind that couldn't decide if he'd was in bed
because he was sick or because he just didn't want to face trying to get up and
score something to land him on his back again. He wasn't really himself like
this, not the image of Curt Wild that he wanted everyone to know, at least. Not
the image of Curt that Brian wanted him to live up to. He was someone else. He
was needy. He was weak. He was tired. Gazing
up at the television screen, he saw the ending of the taped concert. All made
up in glitter and feathers, Brian was leaving the stage. The crowd was going
nuts, as always, and then the segment ended with a sizzling of static. That
wasn't the end of the tape, however. It changed to a short interview with the
BBC, in which Brian was fully without the frills and look of Maxwell Demon but
spoke and carried himself as though still entirely in the persona. "Image is
everything," he was telling the reporter on screen. Curt's
mouth twitched into a wry smile. He knew this one too well. He began mouthing
along to Brian's words, spilling from his mouth with that lovely accent,
sounding so regal and intelligent, as though he'd invented the words himself
rather than half-stolen them. "Song and speech is the image of actions. And time
is the image of eternity. It is not merely enough to spend time on song, you
see." At this, Curt stopped mouthing along and began coughing. He curled up
more, one hand on his chest where it pained him, the other still down his pants
as though to keep warm. On the television, Brian went on, "One must give it the
proper respect, embellish it and dress it up in beauty so gorgeous that the
song is transcended and the audience transported." The
interview ended as Curt's fit of coughing did. And as
he sought out another tissue and roughly gave his nose a one-handed blow, the
shining images on the screen suddenly faded. The light from the screen was gone
now, as black static filled it now. From the television there was no more
music, and no more sound. Just frightening silence in the room filled only by Curt's coughs and sniffles. Curt
did not have the energy needed to get up and change tapes, or even flip off the
television set. He pulled the covers up to his eyes, shutting them tightly.
He'd been trying to stay awake, waiting for Brian. But Brian wasn't coming.
That was painfully clear now. He sighed and coughed and hoped, with the hot
breaths against the blankets that made him feel warm and tired, that he would
fall asleep and not wake up again the sickness had passed. If it hadn't, he'd
give in and take something strong, regulated methadone treatment or not. He
didn't care about getting his act together so much as feeling less pain. And if
Brian wasn't going to be there to get rid of his pain, he'd find something that
would. But for now, he needed sleep. * There
was a path through the crowd for him, on his way back to his dressing room
after the show. Brian walked it quickly, but with the calm and surreal mystique
of Maxwell Demon. He closed the door to his dressing room behind him, sighing.
Another concert over, another set of adoring fans still madly in love with him.
This wasn't changing the world... nothing changed without Curt. Brian
took a seat in front of the mirrors, taking off the exquisite headdress-collar
combination and setting it down on the stool beside him. He slithered out of
his top, pulling on a flashy button-down shirt instead. He was slower to do
away with the make-up, but had succeeded in wiping off most of the glitter when
the door opened behind him. For a moment, something rushed through Brian. He
hoped it was Curt, come to see his show even when sick. It was the sort of
thing Curt would do, after all. Put his own health and better judgment aside to
be wild and careless and happy. But, no, it was only Mandy and "Fabulous,
darling," Mandy cooed, grinning at him. "Even better than the last one, I'd
wager." Though he hated to admit it, his wife certainly spoke the truth. The
shows had been getting better and better. The energy level had been rising. The
costumes and sets and lighting and pure movement becoming more extravagant. The
intensity and perfection had been growing as well. It was all building, building
to some unknown moment in the future where everything would come together
spectacularly to make him the biggest thing ever. Everyone around him could
feel it, too. Even Curt, who seemed a bit scared of it. "I
expect you'll want to celebrate," Mandy went on, gesturing with her hand that
held the cigarette, the smoke rising in circles and swirls and patterns.
"Jerry's gathering the troops as we speak to meet back at the house of course."
Brian said nothing to this. Meanwhile,
He
sighed and shook his head. "Not tonight," he replied. Her eyes narrowed at him.
He turned, his lips still bright red, his eye shadow still a rich green-blue. "Really,
not tonight, Mandy," he insisted. "All
right," she said with a shrug. "Come on, Shannon," she motioned to the younger
woman, who stayed for a little longer as she put the clothes away and gave
Brian another knowing look through the mirror. Her eyes were outlined in black,
and seemed to ask if she knew where he was going. He smiled back and nodded. Mandy
knew as well, of course, just didn't care. Or at least, didn't care to vocalize
it if she did. They
left him alone, and he pulled on a coat with a sigh. They were happy for him,
of course they were. But he didn't care what they thought about him. Not when
he was missing it from someone else. And that someone else, who was the one
person he wanted to see now more than any other, was the one person who wasn't
there. Wasn't there now to share in the after-concert celebration. Wasn't there
before to perform with him on stage. Wasn't there, but should have been. With a
deep breath, he ducked out of his dressing room, determined to get out without
any hassles tonight. "Curt," he called out as he passed Jerry in the hallway
and gave a dismissive flick of his hand at the wrist. The word alone silenced
Jerry. Then he muttered, "Going to see Curt." He stopped at the door, giving
himself one last chance to turn back towards the excitement. Suddenly it all
felt so empty. But all that would change. Yes. He was going to see Curt. * * * Curt
woke, coughing, thirsty, and hot, the next morning. He pushed off the blankets
and froze at a number of things. First, his pants were off, thankfully, leaving
him in nothing. Second, though the covers were off, his back was still warm.
And third, both the first and second points could undoubtedly be attributed to
the fact that Brian was lying behind him in bed. "Bri?"
he said, his voice rough, making him cough some more. He needed water now. And,
failing that, needed hard liquor. He slid out from beneath Brian's arm and sat
up, and he was wondering which to go after when Brian woke up from the
movement. "Curt?
You're awake," he said, rubbing his face to better wake himself up. "And
you're here," Curt observed. "Why?" He was sure he must look dreadful, and was
glad the bedroom had no mirror to confirm this. He ran a hand through his hair,
finding snags and tangles and giving up three-quarters of the way through. Then
he ran his hand against his nose, wincing slightly. It was tender to the touch
at his nostrils and the tip. He was sure it must be red. Not to mention that
he'd slept all night and still felt horribly tired. "Why
what?" asked Brian, sitting up and wrapping an arm around Curt from behind to
draw him into a close hug. "Why
the hell are you here?" he asked with a bit of strength in his voice, which
immediately sent him into a fit of coughing. He bent forward, hunched, curling
around his chest which pained him terribly with each cough. Brian
pulled back and got up, returning moments later with a glass of water and a
spoonful of something yellow. Curt eyed the spoon but accepted the water
immediately, drinking it down in sloppy gulps so that there were trails from
the corners of his mouth and down his chin and neck. He gripped the glass
tightly in his hand as he drank as well as afterwards. There wasn't much left,
but he was determined to hold onto it just in case. "Thirsty
were you, Luv?" Brian asked, reaching over and
pushing Curt's hair back from his face on one side. Curt
flinched, not expecting it. Brian was always doing things like that when they
were alone... he was always so soft and tender and different from when Jerry had
them prancing around and kissing on stage. This just took Curt by surprise, and
he was already a bit jumpy. "Why're you here?" he
asked again, and quickly cleared his throat afterwards. "I've
been spending the night all the time, haven't I?" he asked softly. "Why should
last night have been any different?" Curt
shrugged. Why indeed. It was just like any other night. Except that he'd been
horribly sick and needed Brian and Brian had actually come. He rubbed the back
of his hand over his mouth, then against his nose. Up less than five minutes
and already he felt the need to sneeze. "Oh hell... here it comes..." Curt
whispered, frustrated. He wasn't the most gorgeous thing in the world when he
sneezed, and didn't especially want Brian watching now. He'd let a couple
sneezes out here and there yesterday, but things hadn't been quite so bad then.
"hehhh..." He
felt Brian's arm wrap around him again from behind, and the man hugged him
close. "It's all right," he soothed into Curt's ear. "I've
got you." And
he had. When Curt sneezed, shaking weakly and uncontrollably forward from the
force, "UhhhKShhhnn! uhhhShuhhhh!"
Brian held him tight so it hardly hurt his aching body at all. He sighed and
sniffled, and found Brian holding up tissues for him. When he went to blow his
nose, the softness of the tissues against it was infinitely better. He looked
over to see not the ripped box of rough, flimsy tissues but one of quality,
carefully opened. "Thought
you might need them," Brian commented, tightening his hug around Curt. "You
look like you've been sneezing a lot." Curt rolled his eyes at the
understatement. "A bloody hell of a lot." Curt
nodded with a sniffle. That's really all he had been doing, apart from trying
to fall asleep for ages as he went through hot and cold flashes. Though, now
that he thought for a moment, he wasn't hot or cold any more. "Do I still have
a fever?" he asked, reaching up and pulling his hair back to give Brian a clear
shot to his forehead. He turned halfway on the spot. Brian
felt it, then shook his head. "Think it's gone. Last night you were burning up.
You feel normal to me now." This
was a relief at least, and Curt leaned back against Brian with a few coughs as
he tried to sigh. "That
cough, however, sounds terrible. Here..." he retrieved the spoon he'd carefully
set down on the nightstand. "Take this. It'll help." Again,
Curt eyed it. It was a dull yellow, but definitely not a cough syrup he was
familiar with. "What the fuck?" he muttered, knowing he couldn't rely on his
sense of smell or even taste in the matter as he was far too stuffed up. "Thought
you English types were all about pushing tea when a guy's sick." "That'll
come after," Brian smiled as he had, in fact, brought over tea along with the
tissues. "But this is an old singer's remedy. Learned it from my uncle. It'll
help your throat. Wouldn't want you to do damage. You've got a show to do in a
couple of days, haven't you?" Curt nodded, but still looked skeptical. "It's
just lemon juice and honey," Brian informed him. "Really. It'll help. Just sip
it slowly until you get used to the taste." Curt
sighed and nodded, taking the spoon from Brian. He sipped a little, tasting the
tartness of the lemon juice at once and being fairly glad he couldn't taste it
straight-out. He took it slowly, as Brian suggested, finding the initial taste
to be the worst. The honey mixed in made it taste better in the long run. Afterwards,
he had an urge to drink down the last of his water, but knew he should wait a
little while to give it a chance to help his throat. Luckily,
the wait was a pleasant one. Brian pulled him close again this time with Curt
sitting sideways on the bed so he leaned his side into Brian's chest. Brian
petted his hair, pulling it out of his face for him and smoothing it down. "Bri, why'd you come?" he whispered. He closed his eyes to
the petting. It was silly, but the man's touch really did feel good. He knew it
would. Knew Brian would make him feel better. "You could have gone out
partying." "Wanted
to be here," Brian replied quickly, without thinking about it. For he'd already
thought much about it. "Wanted to be with you instead of out there having
indiscriminate sex with beautiful people or meaningless sex with my wife." Curt
coughed. The treatment on his throat was already wearing off. He downed the
last of his water. "You wanted to be here with me when I'm obviously not
beautiful and feeling even less so?" "You're
always beautiful, Curt," he said softly. "Hardly,"
the other man laughed dryly, coughed harshly, and laughed some more. It sent
his head spinning, fever or no, and he closed his eyes tightly, resting against
Brian. Brian
petted his head, stroking the long blond hair and pressing the side of Curt's head into his chest. "I wanted to be here because of
you," he said softly. "That's why I'm here. That's why I do everything. It's
always been you." Thinking back to that festival, watching Curt in all his
glory dancing about on stage with oil and glitter and attitude. That's what he
wanted. He wanted Curt in every way possible. Everyone else was fake, was
cheap. But not Curt. Curt was the real thing. "Sometimes it just gets too
intense. I just need to get away," he said softly. "But
you're still here, here with me," Curt pointed out. "Yeah,
well, it's you, isn't it? It's different with you," Brian said. "Want to go
away with you, want to escape together. Want to figure it all out together.
Want to get away from it all, and I want to take you with me." That
was a lot to want. Curt was silent. There wasn't much he could say to that. It
was just Brian being Brian again, all the fame and beauty would seep back into
his head soon enough and he'd be prancing in front of the camera again, just
like on the videos. He always wanted more, wanted bigger and better. When he
went up, he wanted Curt right beside him, surrounding him along with everyone
else and raising him up. But when he went back down, he counted on Curt to be
there, expected it. And Curt couldn't promise that. Just like Curt hadn't
expected Brian to show up. Just like Brian hadn't promised to be back after the
concert. And yet he had returned. Just when Curt wanted and needed him to. That
had to mean something. Curt
tensed, not in thought, but from the oncoming urge to sneeze. "huhhh..." he breathed in warning to Brian, but
Brian held him tightly, insisting on holding him steady while he sneezed. "heh-ehhhhhh... ehhh..." He
raised a partly-cupped hand to his face and waited for it. "heh-EH-Shhmmm! ihhhKShhhhh! Shhhmm!"
He shuddered and snapped forward with each, but Brian held him generally in
place despite this, and soothed him with pets when done. "Lie
back down," Brian suggested softly. He pulled Curt back down against the sheets
and tugged the covers back up over them both, just to their waists. They were
more than warm enough already with Brian pressing himself up against Curt's back. Brian passed over a few tissues and then
propped his head up with an elbow on his pillow so he could look down at Curt,
blowing his nose. "Think you might want to get some more sleep?" he asked,
running a hand gently against Curt's upper arm and
shoulder. Curt
nodded, curling and tensing as he felt another sneeze on the way. He doubted
very much he'd be able to get any sleep now, but somehow that didn't matter
much any more. Neither did the sneezes, really. His nose was still tender, but
didn't hurt as much against the tissues Brian had brought. And the sneezes
still took everything out of him, but they didn't hurt when Brian was holding
him steady. "hehhh..." He let out the same shaky breath,
this time smiling roguishly. Let the sneezes come. He was ready for them now.
Again. "hehhh-" Brian's arms both wrapped around him,
slipping beneath him on one side and bending around from the other. One hand
held more tissues for afterwards, but the other pressed against his chest, bracing
him, holding him close against Brian's front. "ehhhh-HUHShhhh! ehhh-KUFShhnnn! UhhShhhhnnn!" He rubbed his nose into the tissues
roughly and smiled as he felt Brian's hot breaths against his ear, tickling and
soothing. He sniffled and looked back. "Not so bad, this." "Glad,"
Brian nodded. He kissed the back of Curt's ear and
nuzzled his face into the mass of stringy hair which nonetheless felt soft and
smelled of Curt. "Hey," he said with a bit of excitement, his eyes at an angle
which made his eyes connect with the television set. "Want to watch one of the
videos?" Chuckling,
Curt shook his head. His hand, the one without the tissues which was still
rubbing at his tickley nose, grabbed Brian's forearm
around him and held him there. "No way." Then, a bit more kindly and hoping
Brian stayed oblivious to the urgency in his voice, "I don't want to move right
now. Don't want you to, you know?" "Yeah..."
Brian said, nodding, though still eyeing the tapes. "Yeah, all right. Maybe
later." He hugged Curt tighter and felt Curt relax heavily back against him. It
felt right. More right than anything else had. He petted softly, over and over
again, until the repetition of it at the strange angle made his wrist hurt. So
he stopped and just watched the man, who had long since stopped blowing his
nose, lie there in silence against him. "Curt?"
Brian called out the name timidly, after a while. "You awake?" There was no
response at first. But then a deep, stuffy snore escaped Curt. Brian smiled. He
wasn't sure if Curt was faking or not, but it didn't matter. He appeared to be
asleep. That was all that was important. Even More Notes: Opening- Song verses/lyrics
from 'Shadow of Doubt' by Bonnie Raitt (yes, I know strange choice of song for a VG story,
but they spoke to me when I heard them on folk radio) Brian's quotes about image- "Time
is the image of eternity" is a quotation attributed to Plato and Solon used to
say that speech was the image of actions |