Disclaimer:
I do not own this characters, they're from a Todd Haynes' movie called Velvet Goldmine"
Warning:
It involves almost-sexual graphic scenes and a little bit of sex language.
Author Notes
This is what was going on in my mind when I first saw the guitar-licking scene.
I apologize for the grammatical mistakes, English is not my first language (I'm Argentinian) so please don't be so critical about it. Reviews if you like it! :)
Enjoy!
Baby's on fire.
How did you expect me to resist? Have you seen him? Did you notice the pheromones sprouting out of him?
He gave me a look just when he hit the stage, although he could hide it while he was plugging the guitar to the amp.
Did you see the way he was moving? I don't get how in hell did I manage to remain on my character. I'm a pro, I guess that's it.
That blonde hair jumping all around his angel-face. Now a demoniac smile. Jesus Christ, he's pure bottled-up-sex. Those fingers moving dizzily in the guitar. I know exactly what he's capable to do with those bloody fingers.
And that sound, that music...it's tempting me to death. Don't you dare to get close Curt, you may die, you know? I can't help to want him, I'm a cat and my prey it's too exposed.
Bastard! His whole personality is now on the stage: A rock star, a wild and exquisite undisciplined blond ,who's now provoking me so much even the audience can notice it.
There he comes, and every note is one bit of his hyper-ventilated breath...
I want to give him pleasure to an unbearable point, but that bloody guitar! The guitar is now enjoying Curt's touch, is feeling his fingers, full with desire. The instrument is now covering the boner I would give my life to have in my hands and suck. Mi mind it's beginning to imagine the banging of that polished wood against his- already hard in my mind- member.
And he's not helping me to get rid of this thoughts. In fact, he's improving them by shutting his eyes in an obviously erotic manner.
He would say this is just his "Passion for music" but no one can get so bloody aroused playing a guitar! And then, between the lyrics, the music and the lights, I notice it:
He's the baby, he's on fire.
Suddenly the crowd had disappeared and it's only me and him- and the sex game he's inviting me to.
He does see the audience, that makes it more exciting for him- remember this is not a Glam-star, he's not a bloody queer or a fearful fairy boy. He's Curt Wild, he loves exhibitionism- oh no, excuse me- Curt is exhibitionism. So let's give him some.
Then I crouch like a feline sighting his prey, and this animal and completely erotic game it's not much more than a show for the stunned crowd. But I couldn't care less.
I want him. I want to form an unforgettable memory in that shattered mind. I wanna leave my stamp. I want him to know I can be a part of his favourite game.
The lights are only contributing to the atmosphere, needless to say, full with sexual tension. Those silver-plated pants are begging me to be ripped, and that bloody guitar it's about to set on fire between his anxious and very talented-and I mean that in every possible sense- fingers.
And then my part, my starring role. The most perfect way of faking a blowjob that the musical history has ever known. And this is also the most certain move to get Curt all turned on, this is his favourite foreplay part.
You're gonna die blonde creature, this is my chance to blow your mind.
My tongue is now playing among the strings. Curt cant' think, and only the vibration of that bloody, bloody guitar! is avoiding me of sensing the shudder is now going through it doesn't matter, because just a second after that, the shudders becomes so much stronger that the guitar-that I'm beginning to hate- is now showing me the shivers. No, more like the electro-shocks that each one of my licks is making him feel.
I'm driving completely insane here. I'm losing my head and getting dizzy, but the only thing I want is to hold onto him harder and break that holy guitar so I could suck him until he dies. And I'm not talking about pleasure. I want him dead.
So, I grab him by the sides of those holy pants and I'm not playing anymore. Now I'm desperate, and this is the only thing that can bring me some kind of satisfaction now. The speed of the strings is cutting my tongue, it bleeds and I don't care. It's only when the wound opens that I back away.
His attitude. Holy mother of god, his imposing, determined, absolutely-doubtless-I'm-the-top-and-you-the-bottom attitude it's on the verge of giving me a bloody heart attack.
Nothing can describe properly the arousal that occurs me by backing away on my hand's palms, while Curt is utilizing the guitar as if it were a phallus and he was dominating me with it.
I can't stand up yet, so I try to make this part of the show.
This night, when Curt and I get back to our home, I'll be so, so dead. And I want you just like you are- the same clothes, the same aroused state, the same wildness. Without that bloody guitar.