"Well, I suppose you could put it that way," Brian agreed with a soft chuckle, taking another drink of his wine and feeling his mobile vibrating in his pocket. "Excuse me, gentlemen," he excused himself, gently wiping his mouth with the cloth napkin and leaving it on the table as he exited the dining room.
Strange, who could be at such late hours?
Brian frowned slightly when he eyed a missed call from an unknown number, followed by the message that vibrated on his palm.
Unusual. He didn't recall anyone who might have his number whom he hadn't added to the contacts.
'Who are you?' the British man texted back, putting his mobile back into his pocket. It surely wasn't important enough to interrupt his dinner party.
"Wrong number, I believe," he explained to the host, smiling politely and agreeing to another glass of wine. He took a quick sip, easily joining the conversation when he was interrupted once again. Another text. This time the British man simply took a quick look, reading the bright screen.
'Can we talk?'
Brian frowned yet again, well was this person slow? But the text that he received a few moments after only confused him more.
'Pick up.' And his mobile began to ring. The British man repeated his procedure, apologising and walking into the hallway as he accepted the call. Whoever that was, he was intrigued.
"Hey," the voice on the other side of the line left Brian dumbfounded. His eyes widening despite himself before fluttering closed: That voice, that accent, that man. No matter how many years had passed, he would never forget the loose, American accent of Curt Wild. He slipped into the nearest room he could find, closing the door behind him.
There was so much that the Glam Rock star wanted to say, so much he had planned and replayed in his mind for this moment. So many scenarios, so many words. But all he could muster was a soft "Hello."
"Are you alone?" Curt asked, lighting another cigarette and throwing himself on the shitty mattress of his shitty apartment. He had money, but he preferred it this way, it was closer to who he was than the life he had been pretending to be part of.
"Not quite," Brian replied, sitting on the small sofa. "Did something happen?" After so many years, why else would Curt call?
"Not really," the bleached blond replied, taking a quick drag and watching the smoke dancing up the ceiling. "Just…felt like talking to you."
Brian nodded, remaining in silence. For some reason, that didn't bother him. In fact, it felt…almost natural under the rush of emotions that were struggling not to burst on the surface. "About what?"
"I don't know…what are you up to?" Curt asked, watching the cherry burn the paper of his cigarette. God, he had almost forgotten how elegant Brian's voice was. Although… no, he hadn't.
"At the moment?" Brian asked, sucking his lower lip.
"Well, I'm in the middle of a dinner party," Brian explained.
Curt nodded, taking another quick drag. "How are you?"
Brian hesitated. "I can't complain."
"No, I mean…how are you, right now?"
Brian frowned. "I don't understand." Or maybe it was the fact that Curt's voice was already clouding his judgment. It always did.
"Literally. Are you sitting down? Standing up? Where?"
"Why?" Brian couldn't help but ask. What an odd thing to ask.
"…because I'm always wondering."
Brian nodded, silently, swallowing softly. "I do as well."
Curt smiled softly, taking another drag. "So?"
Brian chuckled softly. "I am…in what appears to be a library room," the British man explained, looking at his surroundings. "Sitting down on a sofa."
Brian shook his head. "Linen."
"Ah, boring," Curt replied, and Brian couldn't help a soft smile tugging the edge of his lips.
Curt looked around. "Just in my flat," he teased Brian's accent, taking a slow drag and letting the smoke escape from his mouth as he spoke. "Laying down on my bed, smoking."
"I can hear it," Brian confirmed, closing his eyes. The sizzling sound of the cherry, he could almost smell the tabacco.
Curt nodded. "So…are you crossing your legs or..."
"Does it need to be that specific?" Brian asked with a soft chuckle, feeling strangely amused. Which meant…he was quite comfortable, although still sort of thrilled. But this wasn't a call to discuss the feelings the British man so often attempted to escape, or to discuss the past. It was simply…them.
Curt smiled faintly. "Yeah, you know me. I'm all about visuals."
Brian nodded. He knew very well. "Well if you must know, I am sitting down, my left leg is crossed over the right one," he replied softly, his voice lowering instinctively. Apparently his mind believed anything he told this man held some sort of secret. "One hand…resting on my thigh." He sucked his lower lip, looking away. Why did this feel so…
Curt licked his lips, his eyes slowly closing. "Where, exactly?"
Brian lowered his voice even more, opening his eyes. "Are you trying to…? I mean-"
A small shiver crawled up Brian's spine. "Oh."
"Tell me where," Curt insisted, vaguely stroking his own chest.
Brian swallowed softly. "Well..."
"Anywhere near your cock?"
"Yes," Brian replied softly, a soft gasp on the back of his throat as his fingers approached. The electricity cracking between miles away was simply ridiculous. Mostly due to the fact that Brian knew the blond...far too well. This wasn't a simple attempt of seduction, this was how Curt communicated. Bodily. Physically.
"Touch it," Curt commanded softly, taking a soft drag and letting his own hand skim down his pants, reaching in. "Like it's mine."
"You don't own me anymore," was Brian's instinctive response at a flat out command. It was either that, or blindly comply. He couldn't afford to fall for that spell yet again.
Curt bit down his lip. Fuck. "I know," he whispered, the water in his eyes staring at a gray ceiling. "I just like to pretend I don't."
Author's Note: Any feedback is appreciated. Will be rated M if continued.