Fading Parts 1 & 2

[blucola]

Kinda hard to ask people to read the 12th part of something that hasn't been posted here before. So here they are, the first two chapters of Fading.

Title: Fading
Author: Lorraine
Category: Velvet Goldmine
Pairings: C/A, B/M, C/B
Disclaimer: I didn't dreate these guys, I'm making not a penny here!
Summary: After the infamous Tommy Stone concert, old friends meet again, old relationships renew...



Fading Part 1

It was a fucking shame, really, the shit Brian was passing off as
music these days, Curt Wild reflected as he dragged on the tenth of a
chain of Marlboros. He'd been huffing them into his lungs nonstop
since this travesty of a concert began 2 migraine inducing hours ago.
He pulled his last drag of the cigarette and considered flicking the
butt at Tommy Stone's head. I bet it'd go up like a tiki torch, he
speculated with an evil snicker.

It would only be an improvement as far as he was concerned. Brian
Slade, now known to millions as Tommy Stone, had not only sold out,
he'd bought the goddamn company. Curt's eyes narrowed as he recalled
the visit from Brian's goons, the threat implied if he speak with any
journalists about their former relationship... or anything else.

He groaned, Tommy was playing an encore of a song he'd already played
earlier. His fans apparently didn't care that his music was this bubblegum
repetitive pap that sounded exactly like his previous 5 top ten hits.
Curt sat in the hard stadium seat, tapping his toe to the music playing in his head (anything
to pass the time) and gazed up at his former lover. Lucky him, he was
in the front row. His ticket had arrived earlier in the day, not long
before the goons showed up. God knows he'd never pay real money to
listen to this fucking drivel.

It had taken him by surprise, seeing that ticket arrive by courier.
In all the years they'd been apart, Brian had not once tried to
contact him. He'd been more like a shadow, the familiar curve of his
cheek as he'd slipped past a corner, the slam of the door on a limo
as it sped away. He kept Curt close, but not close enough to speak
with him like a human being, touch him or just fucking tell him that
he'd made a terrible mistake. Of course, who could ever imagine Brian
Slade admitting to being wrong under any circumstance?

With a start he realised that Brian, rather, Tommy, had made him out
in the audience. Which was amazing since he was the only front row
person seated and not on their feet screaming their lungs out. He
locked eyes with the performer (performing monkey?) and executed an
extremely rude gesture with his right hand, his lips curled into a
sneer. A challenge flared between them in that instant, unspoken, but
real just the same.

Tommy swiftly truncated the encore to the howling protests of his
fans , turned to his band, snapped his fingers and procured an
electric acoustical guitar. Seamlessly, Tommy Stone became Brian
Slade once again.

Oh I was moved by a screen dream...

Curt about shit his pants, he couldn't believe it. Neither could the
fans who didn't know what to make of this sudden switch from
bubblegum pop to dreamy rock ballad. Moreover, the more discerning in
the audience recognized that this wasn't just Tommy Stone mimicking
Brian Slade's voice, this was the real thing. A rumble began, fueled
by the next line of the song.

Your death could not kill our love for you...

Curt looked at the faces surrounding him, many looked pole-axed,
others looked angry, but a surprising number of them seemed
overjoyed, as if this was the moment they'd been waiting a long time
to witness.

Here's looking at you kid, celebrate years, here's looking at you
kid, wipe away your tears.
Long time since we're together, now I hope it's forever...

The fuck you say, Curt thought, suddenly angry. It doesn't happen
that fast, asshole, especially when you're still sending scary
looking motherfuckers to keep me toeing the line. He got up,
intending to push his way through the row, to the aisle and out a
side door, but fate had different plans for him. Those same fans who
seemed so unsurprised and overjoyed at the return of Brian Slade,
hooted at the sight of his former partner and lover.
The chant began:

Curt---Curt---Curt!

Curt stood stock still, bewildered, the sound of his name filled the
auditorium, almost drowning out Brian's singing.

Here's looking at you kid, hard to forget.
Here's looking at you kid, at least not yet.
Your memory stays, it lingers ever, fade away never...

Blinking away sudden tears. (Fuck all.) Curt turned to the stage to
face the man who'd finished his song and who stood listening to the
voices shouting Curt! and Brian! and even Tommy! The moment stretched
between them into infinity, like a bubble in time. There was a
swirling in Curt's head as the crowd faded away and they faced each
other. Blue eyes locked on blue eyes as the gauntlet was thrown down.
It was Curt's move. With a feral grin, he made his choice, walked up
to the stage edge and held up his arms. Unseen hands gripped them to
lift him up onto the stage.

A smile spread across Brian's face like sunrise. He clutched the
guitar and waited for Curt who took his time, walking across the
stage with leonine grace. He stopped in front of Brian and raised his
hand. Brian's smile flickered, uncertain perhaps, that he was ready
for this next step, but then Curt's fingers were in the wig he wore
and was gently lifting it away. Underneath, Brian's hair was close-
cropped, brown and shot with gray. A collective "ah" went through the
audience at this further unmasking of Tommy Stone. Curt tossed the
wig aside and placed the palms of his hands on the either side of
Brian's cheeks. He gazed deep into Brian's eyes and recited an
ancient memory:

"The world is changed because you are made of ivory and gold, the
curves of your lips rewrite history."

He then leaned in, as before and pressed his lips against Brian's
mouth, gently and soulfully. Brian shuddered and grasped the hands
gently cupping his face. Tears streamed down his cheeks as he
returned Curt's kiss and deepened it. The two stood, locked together,
guitar slowly crushing between them to splinters until it gave way
with a loud pop and was discarded like so much trash.
Curt's hands travelled from Brian's face to the short curls covering
Brian's head. Their mouths moved in tandem, Curt's tongue sweeping in
to claim a deeper hold, a further taste and to re-explore old
territory. It was just as sweet as 10 years before, he realised with
joy. I've come home...finally. He ended the kiss and-

"Sir?" Curt woke up to find a teenaged concert worker shaking him
awake. "I'm sorry, but the concert's over."

"Fuck." Curt muttered. With a crushing sense of loss, Curt looked out
over the mostly empty concert hall. Jesus, couldn't the kid have
waited until after the dream had gotten really good? He didn't want
to acknowledge what the dream actually meant. What it said about his
feelings for the man who'd betrayed him and hurt him worse than
anyone in his entire life, including his brother.

With a groan, he got to his feet and shuffled toward the exit. He
simply felt old. "Need a drink, or two, or three..." He passed a hand
though his hair and sighed. Some memories stayed too long, maybe it
was time for them to fade away.


Fading Part 2

Several hours after the Tommy Stone concert, Curt Wild found himself
walking the streets. He should go home, it was late enough, but he
hated coming home to an empty apartment. It was not unlike him to be
found in a bar until the final call, nursing a warm beer. Gone were
the days of heavy drinking and drug use, but in their place was
loneliness.

He still performed, there were still groupies, although not as many
as in the days when he was the wild man of rock and roll. But at
night, when he unlocked the door to his apartment, there was no voice
welcoming him home. Or, more likely, cursing him for being late.
Curt's room mates didn't last long. Brian had done the job well, Curt
guarded his heart with grim determination.

As he walked, he thought about the man who had found him in the bar
earlier, Arthur Stuart. He'd remembered him for damn sure. It had
taken him a minute, but when Arthur asked him about the pin, it
reminded him of the lover who'd gifted him with it. One lover
recalled to mind another lover, Arthur, with his sloppy eyeliner and
blue powder in his hair. He'd been so achingly young and innocent
that night. The touch of him had been like a salve to his wounded
heart. One night, a morning of easy camaraderie, then Arthur was gone.

Well, not that Arthur had been the one to leave, that was Curt's
modus operandi. He'd wondered, from time to time, what had ever
become of Arthur, then he'd just forgotten. It was just one night,
after all. But Arthur hadn't, apparently, it was evident in the slight
bitter tinge to his voice. Or was it? In ten years, any number of
things could happen to harden a man's heart. How vain would it be, to
presume that a brief encounter could exact such a change?

He grinned, wondering what Arthur had thought of him leaving the pin
on the lip of his beer bottle. It had felt good to give it to him, to
cast off another layer of snakeskin that was Brian Slade.

Damnit, but Arthur looked good, Curt thought. He'd aged well, but was
so fucking serious asking him questions about Brian Slade. Who cared?
Brian Slade was yesterday's news. People might like to visit the
past, but no one really wanted to live there. Curt sure didn't want
to anymore, he was finished with all that.

"You know, you've circled the bar about 5 times now." The voice came
from the shadows and startled Curt.

"Jesus, who the hell is there?" He snarled.

Arthur Stuart stepped forward into the light. "I'm sorry, I thought
you saw me sitting there on the steps." He indicated the front stoop
of the apartment building next door the bar from earlier.

"I was just clearing my mind." Curt muttered.

Arthur frowned. "Oh, I thought maybe you might have been thinking
about what I asked you earlier, about Brian Slade?"

Curt sighed. "No, well----yes, maybe in a roundabout way." He looked
Arthur in the eye. "I was thinking about the first time we met.

Arthur gasped. "I thought you didn't remember."

"It took me a minute, but when you asked me about the pin, it made me
remember Brian and then the farewell concert where we met. The stars
falling that night." He took a step forward, placing himself into
Arthur's personal space. "They couldn't even begin to rival the
glitter of excitement in your eyes." He lowered his voice to a husky
timber. "The moan when you first took me inside of you. Do you
remember?"

Arthur stepped back. "That was a long time ago, Curt." His voice had
gained a hard edge. "Things are different now."

Curt laughed, "Of course, lots of things change when it's been this
long." Once again he moved toward Arthur, a perverse part of him
relishing the discomfort he could see on the other man's face. Arthur
retreated away until they were deep in the shadows, away from the
streetlights and possible prying eyes. It stopped with Arthur backed
up against a brick wall.

"You trying to tell me this doesn't feel the same?" Curt trailed a
hand over Arthur's belly and across his chest.

Arthur sucked in a breath. "Please don't" He pleaded.

"Arthur?" Curt stopped, his hand paused over one of the other man's
nipples, which beaded under his light touch. "What is it, you don't
like me touching you?" He lifted Arthur's left hand, ring less. Not
that it was any real indication, but still... "Is there someone?"

Arthur shook his head. "No, there isn't anyone. It's hard to explain,
there are certain parts of my life that aren't like they used to be."

With a snort, Curt said, "Certain parts, I see... So all of a sudden
you don't like men?"

"It's easier this way." Arthur confided. "My career, my family, they
clashed with that part of my life. It's simpler this way."

"You're a fucking coward." The words dripped from Curt like venom.

Arthur shoved Curt away. "Oh and you're so different? I looked you
up, in the entire time since your breakup with Brian, you've had no
one, just a string of groupies, one night stands and short lived room
mates. You've fucked people, but you've been with no one significant.
So don't get all high and mighty about something you don't even
subscribe to yourself. I'm not the only coward here!"

It was Curt's turn to shove back, he slammed Arthur back up against
the wall. "Never call me a coward, do you hear me?" All of a sudden
the rage left Curt. "Even if it's true, never call me a coward...
Never." As he choked out the last word, he felt the ice around his
heart crack. He couldn't help himself, tears filled his eyes as the
numbness that comforted him for so long, fell away, leaving every
nerve ending raw and sensitive. He reached for Arthur, hoping the
harsh words he'd spoken wouldn't lead to further rejection.

Lightly, he touched Arthur's face and felt the wetness there. "God,
Arthur..." His voice trailed away, hesitantly he leaned forward and
kissed the wetness away, then moved to his mouth. The breath whooshed
out of the other man, then he was kissing Curt back. This surrender
fueled urgency in Curt, who, now liberated from the specter of Brian
Slade, was eager to reclaim life.

He tugged Arthur's shirt from his waistband so he could slide his
hands underneath. While his hands explored the terrain at the small
of Arthur's back, Curt deepened their kiss, thrusting his tongue
inside, pantomiming what he so desperately wanted to do with Arthur's
body.

For his part, Arthur was there every moment of their embrace. He
neither fought nor rejected Curt, but gave back, stroke of tongue for
stroke on tongue. His hands were all over Curt's backside, tracing
the firm warm contours. He tried to slip his hands under the
waistband, but Curt's jeans were too tight to allow the space of even
a single hand. Desperately he grabbed at Curt's belt buckle and
hastily undid it. A snap and a zip later and his hands were on the
curves he sought.

Curt groaned into Arthur's mouth, he knew the place was too public,
but who could think when someone had opened up your pants and was
sliding his fingers into the cleft of your ass? "Jesus Christ,
Arthur." He gasped. "Finish me, because I think I'm gonna die here."
Curt cried out as Arthur took hold of him. He fumbled his hands to
Arthur's crotch and felt the rock hard bulge there. With lightning
speed, he had Arthur's pants open and was encircling his engorged
cock with a firm grip.

Their mouths fused as they jerked each other off. Neither knew or
cared who came first, not with the tremors of orgasm still shuddering
through them. They leaned against one another, pulling their sticky
hands out of each other's pants. Chests heaving, they embraced,
catching their collective breaths and trying to hold onto the moment
of intimacy.

Arthur was the first to speak. "Thank you." He whispered, too
overcome to be able to manage anything beautiful or poetic. Curt
smiled and for the first time, the expression reached his eyes.