|When The World Falls Down
Author: ChinaWolf PM
Ten years on, Brian and Curt still can't get one another out of their heads... all they need to do is get over themselves. Rating will probably change to M.Rated: Fiction T - English - Romance/Angst - Chapters: 3 - Words: 3,628 - Reviews: 11 - Follows: 2 - Updated: 04-24-13 - Published: 11-28-12 - id: 8746583
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Thank you to all who reviewed, :) I'll reply next time! And Vienna darling, of course it was intentional!
I also proof read my last chapter and have now updated it- I must have been tired when I posted it, because at one point it said ''child down Brian's spine'. Not sure what that was about… but I assure you that there were no children in his spine. Or if there were, it was no fault of mine…
In the dark of the night I could hear you calling my name
With the hardest of hearts I still feel full of pain
So I drink and I smoke and I ask you if you're ever around
Even though it was me who drove us right in the ground
See the time we shared it was precious to me,
But all the while I was dreaming of revelry
Born to run, baby run like a stream down a mountainside
With the wind in my back I don't ever even bat an eye
Just know it was you all along who had a hold of my heart
But the demon and me were the best of friends from the start.
Out of the taxi window, Brian could just make out the city: reduced to a smudgy impression by darkness, sparse lights skittering over the surface of the swollen river. Days of rain had churned it a muddy brown, engorged like a giant dirty boner, dragging bits of rubbish sluggishly through the city- and this, not the man mere inches away, was the object of Brian's gaze as they juddered alongside it.
He was afraid that if he looked at Curt, he wouldn't be able to look away.
However, even unconscious, Curt was making visual avoidance difficult.
He sneaked a peek.
Bluish-white light spilled over his face and down the pale exposed throat, lingering on the backs of his eyelids to kiss them with its chilly lips, like Brian longed to do. Curt was so still, so peaceful, so utterly unlike his conscious self it was like looking at a corpse- a thought that sent a shudder down his spine.
Curt, he remembered, had always been a restless sleeper; squirming and muttering and poking him with bony knees- but Brian had never minded. Not even once. He liked to hear the murky snippets of Curt's dreams that slipped from his sleeping lips, glowing with pride every time his name was mentioned; sometimes, apparently, they even talked when Brian was sleeping too- once they had done in the studio and Trevor had sworn he'd heard a conversation.
Flashback from Trevor's POV
Trevor had been expecting music when he cracked open the studio door, or at least talking- Brian and Curt had been known to talk incessantly for hours, jabbering of new ideas, of shared inspirations, scribbling frantically on loose paper, guitars, cigarette packets, anything- scrambled lyrics, visions of stage sets, costumes, notes, huge ideas for future shows they would probably forget the next day.
Sure enough, the room was littered with records and empty bottles of liquor- the player's needle nestling at the heart of a record whose A side had finished, unnoticed- but the two musicians lay slumped among their creative debris, fast asleep, Brian's fingers tangled in Curt's hair as though he'd fallen asleep stroking it.
Trevor supposed he had better wake them. If Mandy saw…
She was still under the impression that her husband's affair was a fake, a publicity stunt dreamed up by Jerry, but the rest of the entourage knew better. Curt and Brian were in love. Full on, squeeze your heart, grind it up, chuck it in the bin with a mere glance love.
Not that they'd admit it. But living and working in such close proximity to them, it was obvious- it was only a matter of time before Mandy was out, o-u-t.
He hopscotched over a roll of crinkled tinfoil, a cluster of Barbie dolls, two wax crayons and several shoes, inching closer to the slumbering artists, drawing back his foot to nudge Brian when- twitch.
He drew a deep breath, made a frustrated noise and muttered petulantly, "Brian. I don't want to try the crab cakes."
For a single, tense moment, Trevor thought they had been faking in order to trick him, but thought better of it. Not their style.
"Obviously." Brian murmured, still fast asleep. "You hate crab." Whoa! he thought, They even talk to each other in their sleep?
"But the waiter insists! I don't want to…" Curt's voice was so soft and childish compared to the superior drawl he used in public, it was almost cute.
"You tell 'em, sweetie." Sweetie? Not very glam rock.
"I'll tell them…motherfuckers…" Trevor choked trying to hold back a bark of laughter.
"I love you, Curt," Brian said, through a mouthful of tangly blonde hair.
"Love you too,"
Trevor crept back out of the studio as quietly as possible, leaving them to their sleep.
The familiar tug of pain yanked Brian's heart at the memory of his lead guitarist's story, even through his smile. He had always adored it; proof that they were so in love, so in tune, so aware of the other even in sleep.
It proved their relationship had been real.
Not a sham to get media attention. Not a meaningless collaboration, or a brief affair.
Suddenly, Curt shifted in his seat, blearily mopping the hair off of his face and making a series of small, sleepy sounds that made Brian want to bundle him up in a hug and never ever let go, regardless of his ex-lover's protests or wishes.
What if he wakes up? He thought frantically, What if he wakes up and hates me? If he gets out of this cab and leaves, what the hell am I going to do?
But the rock star, it seemed, had no intention of doing so. Eyes still closed, he curled up like a puppy, settling head in Brian's lap.
For the second time that night, his world exploded, and this time the shattered shards of his life sliced at his eyeballs, spewing forth twin torrents of futile, frustrated tears. He wanted, so badly it burned, to run his thumb gently over the eyeliner smudges seeping from under Curt's eyes, his strong jaw, the serially-broken nose. It ached that he couldn't.
Curt's hair was draped irresistibly across his thighs, and Brian, unable to stand it any longer, thrust his fingers into the dirty-blonde tangle, playing softly with the moon-bleached strands, as though he was a precious china doll Brian was afraid to break.
It was all too much, and he cried into his dark grey sleeve, hot tears leaking between his fingers and into the crease of his lips, unseen; his pale, angular face like a cutout mask in the stifling dark- gazing with glassy eyes at the man in his lap and for one, wild moment, he wished.
Wished, so hard it hurt, that their car would break the surface of the sweaty river.
That the slimy water would continue, choking along its path through the city, with Brian motionless at the bottom, and Curt slumbering in his lap for all of eternity.
Sleep is a curious state; it renders the mind and body only partially responsive to external stimulus, fogging true thoughts and blurring the lines of reality- though Curt had never had much of a grasp on that in the first place. Or perhaps just never cared much for it.
In this instance, sleep, in all its magical glory, had turned back time. Only partially responsive, Curt's body knew that it was sleeping on Brian: could sense his dark, delicate scent, and feel the familiar, slender thighs cushioning his head- but it had no idea that they were in a taxi, in 1984, after not so much as speaking for ten years.
As far as his rational mind was aware, it was the early seventies, and he was merely snagging a quick nap before getting back to whatever he and Brian were supposed to be doing.
According to the side of his mind that never got bogged down with facts, there was no time, no place, just Curt and Brian, as they always were, utterly normal.
Brian, however, was all too aware.
As Curt, deep in dreams, murmured soft, nonsensical things, he just sat in silence with tears streaming down his face. The sensation was itself unpleasant, the tears under his collar warm and itchy, but in a way he felt more alive than he had in a long while. Part of him, the inner artist, longed to gaze out at the stars as they lay scattered across the fading watercolour sky, but he couldn't, didn't want to prize his gaze from Curt.
He was far too beautiful, and too ethereal, a moon statue; Brian stared, terrified that if he looked away, even for a second, Curt wouldn't be there when he looked back. Disappeared into the night like the wild thing he was.
Honestly, he was dreading the moment their journey reaches its end. But, with a sudden cease in engine-and-door rattling that made the following silence louder and more unnatural than an unrelenting scream, it came.
Lyrics are from the Kings of Leon song, Revelry, and talking of songs, DAVID BOWIE'S NEW SINGLE! Enough said.