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Appearing for the first time in lj! Soon to be posted elsewhere as well.
This chapter is dedicated to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
splix who so gently encouraged me to continue this story.
Fading Part 12
Brian sat alone at his usual table in Sarabeth's. A blueberry muffin and a cup of coffee was placed before him. He thanked the waitress with practiced charm and then added a large measure of sugar to his cup. He carefully brought the cup's edge to his lips and took a sip of its steaming contents. With neat and precise movements he cut the muffin into quarters, then the quarters into halves. He ate with fussy attention. Each motion being made with such delicacy, the simple meal became almost a ceremony, of sorts.
If one were to ask Brian Slade what he was thinking at this particular point in time, his honest answer would have to be nothing. But, behind this affected nothingness, anger and jealousy seethed.
While he sat and pretended to himself that he was OK, that the image of Curt and Mandy wrapped in each other's arms didn't bother him in the least, he waited for Curt's other lover. Now as far as Arthur Stuart was concerned, Brian quite definitely acknowledged his annoyance. After all, the man was a half an hour late for this meeting. Hadn't he made it very clear to the corpulent Editor of the Herald the extreme importance of this story? Weren't his implied threats enough to turn the fat man white with fear, again? He must be slipping, he concluded. He would finish this breakfast and then make some phone calls. He always felt better when he'd put a few people into their proper place, news people most especially. The cockroaches.
It was with pursed lips and narrowed eyes that he observed Arthur Stuart winding his way through the restaurant, towards Brian's table. He was breathless, as if he'd been hurrying. He stopped in front of Brian and extended a hand to shake.
Brian looked at it, a moment too long for propriety, then languidly reached out and grasped the hand in an excessively firm grip. Arthur's eyes widened a touch, the obvious show of strength was as unexpected as it was perplexing. What was Slade trying to tell him?
"I'm sorry I'm late." He apologized, somewhat fervently. He had decided, on the cab ride to the restaurant, that it wasn't in his best interests to piss away his only job. Even if to keep it, he had to indulge a pasty faced Mary's little whims.
"I'm sorry you had to wait, Mr. Slade," Arthur said, most insincerely. "Thank you for agreeing to this interview." Thank you for calling my boss and making this fucking travesty a necessity.
"Please sit," Brian bade him, with a languid wave of his hand. "Let me get right to the point, Mr. Stuart. I requested this interview so I could set the record straight. There is no connection between myself and Tommy Stone. I don't know where you got that ridiculous notion," he chuckled, then his eyes narrowed, "are you trying to imply that he and I are lovers? Because in this day and age, such a thing could prove disastrous to his career." He pulled a cigarette out of a tooled leather case with a large cursive S stamped into it and lit it, blowing the first puff of smoke into Arthur's eyes. He smiled.
*****
Curt surfaced slowly, his body warm, relaxed and rampantly erect. His cock was nestled against a damp heat he found irresistible to thrust into, so he did. He pumped lazily with an unconscious groan, his mind occupying that space between dreaming and wakefulness. His brain conjured up strong masculine features and a British accent that years in America hadn't managed to subdue.
He moaned, thrust again and buried his face against soft silky hair as he felt the familiar tightening begin in his balls. Almost there, so close... Then he heard the voice.
Softy, breathy, full of passion and undeniably feminine. Horrified, he slammed into wakefulness. He looked down at the back of the head of the person he was still buried to the balls inside. He pulled out and fell back on the bed, one hand over his eyes.
"Shit Mandy," he groaned, "wake up."
Mandy's body jerked. "Jesus Christ, Curt!" She exclaimed, then jerked her body away and of the bed. "What the hell happened here," Mandy demanded as she leapt from the bed and began locating her scattered clothing.
Curt watched her hop about, amused despite the circumstances. She could always be counted on the make any situation more chaotic, it was part of her charm. She was a whirling dervish of a woman, how Brian had managed to cast her aside was beyond Curt. Then he remembered the sleep walker she'd become during those last days with his former lover and decided that perhaps some things were for the best.
Brian had sucked the life out of yet another person who loved him. He had a lot to answer for, Curt decided, deliberately suppressing his own responsibility in the whole mess. He tried to cut in on the stream of obscenities that poured from her like a fountain. But she was lost to him in her shattering despair.
There was a wild look in her eye as she complained that she couldn't find her tights. He got up naked out of the bed and helped her locate them. They were in the living room, wrapped around an empty whisky bottle. He shook them out, righting the twisted legs and handing them over to a suddenly subdued Mandy.
"Why am I here," she whispered.
Curt shrugged, "only you can answer that, Mandy." He looked at her thoughtfully. "Maybe it's because that in spite of everything, I remind you of the time when we were young, beautiful and didn't give a fuck about anything the world said about us." He sighed, "or maybe it's because we both know that even after all this time, Brian Slade still owns some little part of our souls. A thing he threw away a long time ago."
Mandy's voice was soft. "He didn't throw you away, Curt, you left."
What that she pulled on the rest of her clothing and walked out of Curt's apartment, out of his life and without a look back Curt watched her go, a sudden shock gripping his body. He'd left, how could he have forgotten that? Or the look on Brian's face in the studio that last day.
He sat on the edge of the sofa, his gut clenched with sickness. How much of all of it had he gotten wrong? He sat there a long time, naked and feeling lost.
This chapter is dedicated to
splix who so gently encouraged me to continue this story.Brian sat alone at his usual table in Sarabeth's. A blueberry muffin and a cup of coffee was placed before him. He thanked the waitress with practiced charm and then added a large measure of sugar to his cup. He carefully brought the cup's edge to his lips and took a sip of its steaming contents. With neat and precise movements he cut the muffin into quarters, then the quarters into halves. He ate with fussy attention. Each motion being made with such delicacy, the simple meal became almost a ceremony, of sorts.
If one were to ask Brian Slade what he was thinking at this particular point in time, his honest answer would have to be nothing. But, behind this affected nothingness, anger and jealousy seethed.
While he sat and pretended to himself that he was OK, that the image of Curt and Mandy wrapped in each other's arms didn't bother him in the least, he waited for Curt's other lover. Now as far as Arthur Stuart was concerned, Brian quite definitely acknowledged his annoyance. After all, the man was a half an hour late for this meeting. Hadn't he made it very clear to the corpulent Editor of the Herald the extreme importance of this story? Weren't his implied threats enough to turn the fat man white with fear, again? He must be slipping, he concluded. He would finish this breakfast and then make some phone calls. He always felt better when he'd put a few people into their proper place, news people most especially. The cockroaches.
It was with pursed lips and narrowed eyes that he observed Arthur Stuart winding his way through the restaurant, towards Brian's table. He was breathless, as if he'd been hurrying. He stopped in front of Brian and extended a hand to shake.
Brian looked at it, a moment too long for propriety, then languidly reached out and grasped the hand in an excessively firm grip. Arthur's eyes widened a touch, the obvious show of strength was as unexpected as it was perplexing. What was Slade trying to tell him?
"I'm sorry I'm late." He apologized, somewhat fervently. He had decided, on the cab ride to the restaurant, that it wasn't in his best interests to piss away his only job. Even if to keep it, he had to indulge a pasty faced Mary's little whims.
"I'm sorry you had to wait, Mr. Slade," Arthur said, most insincerely. "Thank you for agreeing to this interview." Thank you for calling my boss and making this fucking travesty a necessity.
"Please sit," Brian bade him, with a languid wave of his hand. "Let me get right to the point, Mr. Stuart. I requested this interview so I could set the record straight. There is no connection between myself and Tommy Stone. I don't know where you got that ridiculous notion," he chuckled, then his eyes narrowed, "are you trying to imply that he and I are lovers? Because in this day and age, such a thing could prove disastrous to his career." He pulled a cigarette out of a tooled leather case with a large cursive S stamped into it and lit it, blowing the first puff of smoke into Arthur's eyes. He smiled.
*****
Curt surfaced slowly, his body warm, relaxed and rampantly erect. His cock was nestled against a damp heat he found irresistible to thrust into, so he did. He pumped lazily with an unconscious groan, his mind occupying that space between dreaming and wakefulness. His brain conjured up strong masculine features and a British accent that years in America hadn't managed to subdue.
He moaned, thrust again and buried his face against soft silky hair as he felt the familiar tightening begin in his balls. Almost there, so close... Then he heard the voice.
Softy, breathy, full of passion and undeniably feminine. Horrified, he slammed into wakefulness. He looked down at the back of the head of the person he was still buried to the balls inside. He pulled out and fell back on the bed, one hand over his eyes.
"Shit Mandy," he groaned, "wake up."
Mandy's body jerked. "Jesus Christ, Curt!" She exclaimed, then jerked her body away and of the bed. "What the hell happened here," Mandy demanded as she leapt from the bed and began locating her scattered clothing.
Curt watched her hop about, amused despite the circumstances. She could always be counted on the make any situation more chaotic, it was part of her charm. She was a whirling dervish of a woman, how Brian had managed to cast her aside was beyond Curt. Then he remembered the sleep walker she'd become during those last days with his former lover and decided that perhaps some things were for the best.
Brian had sucked the life out of yet another person who loved him. He had a lot to answer for, Curt decided, deliberately suppressing his own responsibility in the whole mess. He tried to cut in on the stream of obscenities that poured from her like a fountain. But she was lost to him in her shattering despair.
There was a wild look in her eye as she complained that she couldn't find her tights. He got up naked out of the bed and helped her locate them. They were in the living room, wrapped around an empty whisky bottle. He shook them out, righting the twisted legs and handing them over to a suddenly subdued Mandy.
"Why am I here," she whispered.
Curt shrugged, "only you can answer that, Mandy." He looked at her thoughtfully. "Maybe it's because that in spite of everything, I remind you of the time when we were young, beautiful and didn't give a fuck about anything the world said about us." He sighed, "or maybe it's because we both know that even after all this time, Brian Slade still owns some little part of our souls. A thing he threw away a long time ago."
Mandy's voice was soft. "He didn't throw you away, Curt, you left."
What that she pulled on the rest of her clothing and walked out of Curt's apartment, out of his life and without a look back Curt watched her go, a sudden shock gripping his body. He'd left, how could he have forgotten that? Or the look on Brian's face in the studio that last day.
He sat on the edge of the sofa, his gut clenched with sickness. How much of all of it had he gotten wrong? He sat there a long time, naked and feeling lost.
