The Greatest Power

Great Christ, I do adore him.

Now of course, you'll be wondering, how is it that only a few days ago I was quite set on sliding this bastard's throat- though merely had considered to do so, my true intentions be damned by his charm- whilst I am now currently in possession of him, not hurting him but instead rather...worshipping him. Is torturing the same thing?

Now don't take me wrong, it isn't as though I enjoy putting him through pain of course but rather...excruciating pleasure. For what else is there left to feel, to desire and crave when one is given sex in flesh- a beautiful, raunchy, trembling Curt Wild at one's very own mercy?

Well you see, that is his effect. The Curt effect, shall we call it.

You simply cannot help but be transfixed, in awe, utterly rapt by that lost-boy charm of his somehow roomming in the same body with his raw magnetism. You can not stop your mind to from being taken as well, drowned in a perpetual state of aroused fog, to the point you don't know what to do with yourslef in order get rid of those piercing light eyes. And later on…when you get to know him better…you eventually find yourself, well, enchanted.

Yet, somehow all of this is still sporadically interrupted by moments in which you strongly question what on Earth you are getting yourself into.

And is it worth it?

Particularly considering that quick to fly off the bloody handle- or more accurately, tear the metaphoric thing off- prone to set your belongings on fire over the smallest of misunderstandings, bloody well smash the microphone against the glass of a recording cabin and potentionally putting your career at bare risk, curse and shout, search and destroy... appeal of his.

Because, let's not deny it, even if relationship inconvenient, it does happen to be

In the right context of course- oil and glitter? And let me tell you, it sure as the lack of the existence of one single god, it's bloody worth it.

For it isn't empty as perhaps…well, myself- my looks revealing more than it is below, such a beauty does- his appearance instead merely a window. A quite exquisite one, of course- with shining, pale gold frames and a translucent glass- but it still happens to fall flat in comparison with the purity hidden within. The vulnerable glimmer in the betrayed anger of his eyes…the storm contained in them. The sorrowful, yet…still somehow optimistic, boyish smile.

How not to forgive him?

He's always been right. He's seen through the costumes. My punishment mostly a response to his shameless accuracy.

Still, being I particularly known for my memory- or is it resentful?- I refuse to forget. That he's said at a given time that he does not want me, love me, or even desire me anymore.

However l don't fall into despair, oh no…for every trace of contempt has turned into determination to prove him wrong. And as it is expected, fitting for two former rock stars, sex is our preferred method, our channel of predilection.

Though it slaves us more than we choose it.

I glance up his form. Oh, his exquisite…writhing form. Slim hips…pale stomach twitching, and my lids flutter closed as my ears are rubbed with the reminder of his voice in this...intimate state. Which, as rain does, escalates and subdues, growls and strikes; low as thunders, high and demanding as splatering drops falling on a roof. And now, as it to follow the allegory, has unraveled outside of this very flat.

Wind tearing trees…messing about, rattling and opening windows, cooling the room yet not our bodies in a matter of seconds.

And it is so…meaningful. This power that has startled a now breathily laughing Curt, that it feels as though the skies are screaming at us and only us, the universe having sent this storm to celebrate our reunion.

Oh well, where was I?


Of course.

One, two, three times my tongue swirls around the exquisite, pleading flesh, and Curt's sensual writhing is replaced with a jerking spine, eyes shooting open, closing again, lips part and... a raw, throaty cry fills the cold with as much intensity as his generous release fills my mouth.

I moan in pure content.

"Man…" Curt breathes with difficulty, blinking twice before his aroused face melts into a beautiful laugh- colliding back onto the sticky leather of his sofa.

Tacky, my boy.

"Fucking insane."

"The storm-" happening to match his climax "or me?" I ask, feeling how the breeze has somehow turned my weight into feathers.

Curt chuckles, closing his eyes. "Both."

Normally I would smirk, however this time I can't help but grin like a total plonker.

"It's only natural," I retort, slithering back up his messy form to plant a heavy kiss on his lips- my own arousal having not subsised, but rather the opposite. A soft murmur giving me away as faint drops turn my face damp.

Curt chuckles. "Yeah," he agrees, nipping my jaw. "Brian fucking Slade, normal, doesn't really fit," he finishes with another grin, grasping my face with both hands and pulling me down for another, hmm, hungry kiss.

This opportunity, it is me the one writhing.

"Not quite what I meant," I speak breathily into his mouth.

"What did ya mean?" he asks, leaning up for another sucking little kiss.

"Well…" My fingertips trace his face. "You inspire me."

Curt raises both eyebrows, his grin widening. "Your muse, huh?" He nips at my jaw.

"Does it surprise you?"

"Kind of," he admits, his grin melting into a shy smile. "I mean I knew. Just thought, you know." He shrugs. "That was all pretty much over."

I smile. "Hardly."

He's still staring at me. "Yeah? Cause I'm confused."

"Are you?"

"Yeah, it's like…a month ago you wanted to bite my head off, man." There is that sheepish smile again.

I chuckle softly, slithering my hand down his thigh and watching him the entire time. His lips part slightly as he follows, only for me to remove the package, brushing right past his cock for the pack of cigarettes from his discarded jeans. Yes, I am a tease, how is that new? "I did," I confirm.

He takes a breath and a cigarette, lighting it. "So?"

"So…I don't anymore," I reply matter of factly, watching the smoke trail from his mouth.

He chuckles. "Just like that?"

"Well…not just like that. I've been doing a tremendous amount of thinking," I explain, stroking his lovely, masculine jaw. Quite German, that trait of his.

"And?" Curt insists, impatiently, taking a quick drag and tilting his chin to the ceiling to blow it out. "It's…behind us?" he asks, in his voice dances a trace of…hope?

"Well…" I rise to him, stealing a puff for myself. I feel a smile curling my lips. "I wouldn't be here otherwise, now would I?"

His eyes sparkle, and before I realise it I've been hurriedly pulled to my feet and through the narrow hallway. I laugh in spite of me, it feels as though four years have never passed and we are right back in one of those countless hotels, playful as children, starving as animals- oblivious and joyful. "Where are we going?"

"Bathroom," he replies, pulling from my wrist and shoving me up against the aforementioned's door. "What f-" I try, but my mouth is crushed by his instead. I melt against the hardwood.

"I wanna take a shower," he mutters, still smiling. I remained confused, which is understandable given that his tongue is now in play. Swirling around my ear and tracing a wild path down my neck.

"Well, alright," I reply with another laugh, my head tilting back with a panting breath as I feel Curt's mouth now sucking on my nipples. Smoke fills my lungs. "I never took you for a clean lad, particularly."

Curt grins, shaking his head. I can feel his teeth gracing my stomach. The hot cherry, all too close to my thigh. "Not me," he replies, his fingertips reaching my bum.

I do my best to part my lids through his ministrations, and look down him. "Us?"

"Yeah," he replies, dropping to his bloody knees. Oh Lord, it's only now that I realise how long it's been. And along with that realisation, my body is hit with the memory of what this filthy blond's lips are capable of doing. But I'm ripped apart, or rather sunk further into my reviere by his words.

"A clean start."

Now this is where I feel obliged to pause, to take a moment and appreciate the absolute beauty of these words that reveal it all. By taking something that banal and turn it into a metaphor, by taking a metaphor and bringing it down to Earth, for us to experience, to taste, literally bathe in and remember. It occurs to me that this is one of many aspects you can read in his music.

Behind his attitude, his wild beat, his true, romantic self and intentions. Intentions that have been blinded to me for years, even being by his side, due to my inner demons. Or...a very specific one.

Now, finally, I feel free. Free to be touched by this and by him, to sink my fingertips into that scorching mess of blond locks and pull the creature back to his feet for a furious kiss. Free to speak through my mouth yet not through words how wrong I've been, how terribly, bloody sorry I am, how intently I repent of allowing the vanities to tear us down, to dig the knife that someone else has stuck ever deeper. When it was me who was supposed to help him heal, as he liberates me. It was me who wouldn't look or talk down to him like they've all had, like he's a child, like we own the right to take away his control simply because he's been broken and vulnerable. But instead a fellow musician, a respected artist, a partner, an equal.

Reasons, I've had many, but not one of them proved to be considered a justification.

And that is why in a flash I've opened the door, I've turned on the running water, and it is me the one pulling him underneath it, granting his- now our- wish. It is me the one laughing brightly as the thunders strike outside, cornering myself, throwing him over my body for our dynamic to be re-established. For our wounds to be soothed by the warm steam and our lips to be bruised as we remember for the thousandth time that we, are above ourselves.

We are part of something greater, hopeless victims of a force that exceeds our contrasting personalities, our past aggressions. One that gives it all back its meaning. Not his, not mine, not the skies', but the greatest power.


Author's Note : So, for this chapter I've decided to take a bit of a bold choice and give you a glimpse of Brian's mind in first person. I've been thinking about giving Curt his own little space as well, or maybe continue this way for a while, or switch back and forth and even add more points of view in the best Trainspotting style. Show your love with a review and let me know :)