Disclaimer: I don't own them.
Notes: I've never written a Velvet Goldmine fic before, but Curt's just ... interesting.
I Hate Him
They turned off the music. Why the hell did the turn off the fucking music? Christ, I'm still singing. Stop singing you fucking asshole! Silence. The entire recording studio is dead silent and they're all staring at me. The fuckers are just . . . staring like I'm some kind of alien.
"What?" I ask. "What? Is there a problem?"
He won't look at me at first, but then Brian's staring at me too. I hate it. I hate the way he's staring at me because I love the way it makes me feel. His eyes just burn into me, he has those smoldering eyes that just take a person. I can see why Mandy married him. I hate his eyes. I can't see anything else when he's looking at me. I lose control.
I can't lose control for fuck's sake. I'm Curt Wild. I don't lose control. I hold it all in, I keep it inside me, I cover up with the drugs and the alcohol and the men and women. The only time I lose control is when I'm onstage. And when Brian Slade is staring at me.
He's speaking, but I can't hear him through the soundproof windows.
"What?" I ask. What?"
Brian grabs the microphone on the outside and his voice pours over the speakers and into my little room. "Curt, we only ask that when you decide to make the change you simply inform us in advance so that Eaton here is properly prepared otherwise."
"I don't know what the fuck you're talking about, man. I didn't make any fucking change." He won't even look at me. None of them will meet my fucking eye.
"Brian?"
There's that fucking silence again and in that silence I know what's going on. Brian's eyes, those sad, confused eyes are even more guarded than usual. And I know why, I know exactly why I hate his eyes more than every before.
"Fucking motherfucker, fuck you," I growl. "Mother fucker. Fuck you."
They're talking, but I can't hear them anymore. It's Brian's fault, everything has been his fault. He's the one who wanted me to 'experiment' with my music. He's the one who talked me into indulging myself in whatever I wanted. Brian Slade is the one who wanted me to lose control.
Fine. Let the fucker have his way. I'll throw my fucking control out the goddamned window. If he wants to change me so badly, then I'll change. He's a fucking pop icon, he knows what's best for Curt Wild, right?
So I put the microphone stand through the sound board behind me. That got their attention, the fuckers. They're talking about me now. I can't hear them, but I know they are. They're telling Brian that I'm useless and God knows he probably agrees. I hate them all. They brought me here to tear me down and I fucking hate them for it. I want to take the chair in the sound booth and fucking beat each of them to death with it. Even Brian.
Especially Brian.
I hate him. I don't do this, I don't freak out, I am in control. Being on stage is different, it's the only time I'm allowed to let go. Off stage I don't lose control, never. There's no question about it. I know who I am, I know where I am, I even know the exact dosage of drugs in my system at this very moment. I am the fucking king of control.
The chair shatters as I beat the floor with it. Outside, they're getting up to leave, all of them except Mandy and Brian. The chair splinters in my hand, but I don't notice because I've caught his eye. Mandy studies us both, then picks up her fur coat and leaves the studio. He and I are alone.
We're alone and I hate it. I hate him.
If only my body didn't disagree with my thoughts. He looks amazing, standing alone and staring at me so miserably. I want to take his face in my hands and memorize every contour of his jawline, the soft skin of his lips. I want to memorize all of him, because I know this will be the last time we'll be together.
My hands press against the window unconsciously and I hate him even more. He makes me unaware of my very movements, my own fucking body. He gestures for me to leave the sound booth and I follow, opening the door and standing a few feet away.
"Curt," he begins softly.
I close my eyes, I know what's coming. "Let me guess, Brian. He can't risk extending my contract. I'm too much of a fucking liability."
He sighs. "Curt, I'm sorry. You know I'd do anything to keep you around."
A bitter laugh escapes me and I open my eyes to look at him. I want to see his magical fucking eyes when he attempts to let me down gently. I want to tell him that I hate him, that it doesn't matter because I don't need him. I'm better off on my own anyway. I can be myself, my music can be mine again.
"I need you," I say instead.
His eyes change then and I know he wants me to leave about as much as I want to leave. He needs me just as much as I need him, but he won't fall to it. He's stronger than I am and I hate him for that as well.
"I'm sorry," he says. "It's over Curt. This partnership . . . everything," he adds meaningfully. "It can't go on."
"Why not?"
He smiles slightly. "It's not right. I'm married."
Another harsh laugh escapes. "And now you're just a fucking saint, aren't you, Brian? You're a good little boy who never had a naughty thought about anyone but his fucking wife!"
"Curt, I don't want it to end like this."
Oh, fuck me. He doesn't want it to end like this? What about me, for fuck's sake? I don't want it to end at all. Fuck, I hate him so much.
"How do you want it to end then?" I ask. "What the fuck do you want me to say, Brian? Do you want me to smile and nod? Do you want me to give you a parting hug, a parting kiss? Better yet, how about a parting fuck for the road? How the hell do you expect me to react?"
His looks at the floor and I can't stand him. I hate the tension in the room, I hate everything about this goddamned conversation and I have to do something about it. So I take two steps forward and I grab Brian's face and kiss him.
He's the one who wanted a parting kiss after all . . . or was that me?
Whoever wanted to start it doesn't matter any more because neither one of us is trying to stop it. His hands are on my body, my back, lower under he's grabbing hungrily at my ass. All I can concentrate on are his lips, soft and needy, pressing against mine with an intensity I've never seen from him before. Why the fuck did he ever marry Mandy if he wanted to kiss a man like he's kissing me? His mouth works fervently, his teeth tugging at my lips, pulling and claiming them for his own. He knows he can do this to me, he knows he has the power.
And I fucking hate him for it.
"Curt," he breaths into my mouth, his tongue tracing wetly against my lips. "Forget what I said, just forget it all."
It's not right.
His words echo suddenly in my head and I can't continue. I love his hands and his mouth and, fuck me if I ever say this out loud, I love him, but I can't let it go on. He told me it was wrong and maybe, deep down he believes it.
I push him away and in those eyes that I hate so fucking much, I see his heart break. He can't believe that I'd reject him, that I'd be the one to break the kiss. The parting kiss, I remind myself, because he chose to end everything we had.
"I'm sorry, Brian."
His eyes widen. "Oh, Curt. No."
I take a step away. "This was your decision."
"I take it back," he says fiercely.
"You can't do that. Not after you tell me that it's wrong, you fuck."
"Don't talk to me like that, Curt."
I shrug helplessly. "Sorry." I turn without another word and leave the studio. He follows me down the hall, shouting obscenities and other words that just roll off his tongue. It all sounds like a song when it comes from Brian Slade.
I'm almost at the stairs when the final blow is dealt.
"You'll be nothing without me, Curt."
It's then that my shoulders square and the anger starts to simmer. He can't tell me that I'll be nothing without him. I'm everything he never could be, I'm a fucking rock star. I'm not afraid to live and he's afraid of everything, so he can just so fuck himself and his wife if that's what he thinks of me. He can't possibly think I'd answer him after that.
I leave, stalking angrily down the stairs and outside, into the chilly night. The wind hits me, but I keep walking. Past Mandy, past the words he flings at me, past the building until I'm gone and there's nothing left of me in Brian's sight. Fuck him and his asshole words. Fuck him if he thinks his stupid insults are going to hurt me. Fuck him if he thinks I'll ever give it another thought. He's nothing, his words mean nothing. I'm stronger than that. I don't lose control.
Yet, as his words echo through my head, I find myself turning to the building beside me and slamming a fist into it with all the strength I possess. Fuck him. My knuckles break, my fingers bleed and still I can't forget the last words he'll ever speak to me. Fuck him if he thinks it hurt me. He can't hurt me, he's not worth it. The wall is slick with my blood, but I keep punching. I hate him, I wish he would die. His words mean nothing.
"Piss off, go on then. Go back to your wolves, your junkie twerps, your bloody shock treatment and fuck you too."
So why can't I get them out of my head?
End
Reviews for this would be greatly appreciate, but be kind. It's my first in the fandom. :)
Notes: I've never written a Velvet Goldmine fic before, but Curt's just ... interesting.
I Hate Him
They turned off the music. Why the hell did the turn off the fucking music? Christ, I'm still singing. Stop singing you fucking asshole! Silence. The entire recording studio is dead silent and they're all staring at me. The fuckers are just . . . staring like I'm some kind of alien.
"What?" I ask. "What? Is there a problem?"
He won't look at me at first, but then Brian's staring at me too. I hate it. I hate the way he's staring at me because I love the way it makes me feel. His eyes just burn into me, he has those smoldering eyes that just take a person. I can see why Mandy married him. I hate his eyes. I can't see anything else when he's looking at me. I lose control.
I can't lose control for fuck's sake. I'm Curt Wild. I don't lose control. I hold it all in, I keep it inside me, I cover up with the drugs and the alcohol and the men and women. The only time I lose control is when I'm onstage. And when Brian Slade is staring at me.
He's speaking, but I can't hear him through the soundproof windows.
"What?" I ask. What?"
Brian grabs the microphone on the outside and his voice pours over the speakers and into my little room. "Curt, we only ask that when you decide to make the change you simply inform us in advance so that Eaton here is properly prepared otherwise."
"I don't know what the fuck you're talking about, man. I didn't make any fucking change." He won't even look at me. None of them will meet my fucking eye.
"Brian?"
There's that fucking silence again and in that silence I know what's going on. Brian's eyes, those sad, confused eyes are even more guarded than usual. And I know why, I know exactly why I hate his eyes more than every before.
"Fucking motherfucker, fuck you," I growl. "Mother fucker. Fuck you."
They're talking, but I can't hear them anymore. It's Brian's fault, everything has been his fault. He's the one who wanted me to 'experiment' with my music. He's the one who talked me into indulging myself in whatever I wanted. Brian Slade is the one who wanted me to lose control.
Fine. Let the fucker have his way. I'll throw my fucking control out the goddamned window. If he wants to change me so badly, then I'll change. He's a fucking pop icon, he knows what's best for Curt Wild, right?
So I put the microphone stand through the sound board behind me. That got their attention, the fuckers. They're talking about me now. I can't hear them, but I know they are. They're telling Brian that I'm useless and God knows he probably agrees. I hate them all. They brought me here to tear me down and I fucking hate them for it. I want to take the chair in the sound booth and fucking beat each of them to death with it. Even Brian.
Especially Brian.
I hate him. I don't do this, I don't freak out, I am in control. Being on stage is different, it's the only time I'm allowed to let go. Off stage I don't lose control, never. There's no question about it. I know who I am, I know where I am, I even know the exact dosage of drugs in my system at this very moment. I am the fucking king of control.
The chair shatters as I beat the floor with it. Outside, they're getting up to leave, all of them except Mandy and Brian. The chair splinters in my hand, but I don't notice because I've caught his eye. Mandy studies us both, then picks up her fur coat and leaves the studio. He and I are alone.
We're alone and I hate it. I hate him.
If only my body didn't disagree with my thoughts. He looks amazing, standing alone and staring at me so miserably. I want to take his face in my hands and memorize every contour of his jawline, the soft skin of his lips. I want to memorize all of him, because I know this will be the last time we'll be together.
My hands press against the window unconsciously and I hate him even more. He makes me unaware of my very movements, my own fucking body. He gestures for me to leave the sound booth and I follow, opening the door and standing a few feet away.
"Curt," he begins softly.
I close my eyes, I know what's coming. "Let me guess, Brian. He can't risk extending my contract. I'm too much of a fucking liability."
He sighs. "Curt, I'm sorry. You know I'd do anything to keep you around."
A bitter laugh escapes me and I open my eyes to look at him. I want to see his magical fucking eyes when he attempts to let me down gently. I want to tell him that I hate him, that it doesn't matter because I don't need him. I'm better off on my own anyway. I can be myself, my music can be mine again.
"I need you," I say instead.
His eyes change then and I know he wants me to leave about as much as I want to leave. He needs me just as much as I need him, but he won't fall to it. He's stronger than I am and I hate him for that as well.
"I'm sorry," he says. "It's over Curt. This partnership . . . everything," he adds meaningfully. "It can't go on."
"Why not?"
He smiles slightly. "It's not right. I'm married."
Another harsh laugh escapes. "And now you're just a fucking saint, aren't you, Brian? You're a good little boy who never had a naughty thought about anyone but his fucking wife!"
"Curt, I don't want it to end like this."
Oh, fuck me. He doesn't want it to end like this? What about me, for fuck's sake? I don't want it to end at all. Fuck, I hate him so much.
"How do you want it to end then?" I ask. "What the fuck do you want me to say, Brian? Do you want me to smile and nod? Do you want me to give you a parting hug, a parting kiss? Better yet, how about a parting fuck for the road? How the hell do you expect me to react?"
His looks at the floor and I can't stand him. I hate the tension in the room, I hate everything about this goddamned conversation and I have to do something about it. So I take two steps forward and I grab Brian's face and kiss him.
He's the one who wanted a parting kiss after all . . . or was that me?
Whoever wanted to start it doesn't matter any more because neither one of us is trying to stop it. His hands are on my body, my back, lower under he's grabbing hungrily at my ass. All I can concentrate on are his lips, soft and needy, pressing against mine with an intensity I've never seen from him before. Why the fuck did he ever marry Mandy if he wanted to kiss a man like he's kissing me? His mouth works fervently, his teeth tugging at my lips, pulling and claiming them for his own. He knows he can do this to me, he knows he has the power.
And I fucking hate him for it.
"Curt," he breaths into my mouth, his tongue tracing wetly against my lips. "Forget what I said, just forget it all."
It's not right.
His words echo suddenly in my head and I can't continue. I love his hands and his mouth and, fuck me if I ever say this out loud, I love him, but I can't let it go on. He told me it was wrong and maybe, deep down he believes it.
I push him away and in those eyes that I hate so fucking much, I see his heart break. He can't believe that I'd reject him, that I'd be the one to break the kiss. The parting kiss, I remind myself, because he chose to end everything we had.
"I'm sorry, Brian."
His eyes widen. "Oh, Curt. No."
I take a step away. "This was your decision."
"I take it back," he says fiercely.
"You can't do that. Not after you tell me that it's wrong, you fuck."
"Don't talk to me like that, Curt."
I shrug helplessly. "Sorry." I turn without another word and leave the studio. He follows me down the hall, shouting obscenities and other words that just roll off his tongue. It all sounds like a song when it comes from Brian Slade.
I'm almost at the stairs when the final blow is dealt.
"You'll be nothing without me, Curt."
It's then that my shoulders square and the anger starts to simmer. He can't tell me that I'll be nothing without him. I'm everything he never could be, I'm a fucking rock star. I'm not afraid to live and he's afraid of everything, so he can just so fuck himself and his wife if that's what he thinks of me. He can't possibly think I'd answer him after that.
I leave, stalking angrily down the stairs and outside, into the chilly night. The wind hits me, but I keep walking. Past Mandy, past the words he flings at me, past the building until I'm gone and there's nothing left of me in Brian's sight. Fuck him and his asshole words. Fuck him if he thinks his stupid insults are going to hurt me. Fuck him if he thinks I'll ever give it another thought. He's nothing, his words mean nothing. I'm stronger than that. I don't lose control.
Yet, as his words echo through my head, I find myself turning to the building beside me and slamming a fist into it with all the strength I possess. Fuck him. My knuckles break, my fingers bleed and still I can't forget the last words he'll ever speak to me. Fuck him if he thinks it hurt me. He can't hurt me, he's not worth it. The wall is slick with my blood, but I keep punching. I hate him, I wish he would die. His words mean nothing.
"Piss off, go on then. Go back to your wolves, your junkie twerps, your bloody shock treatment and fuck you too."
So why can't I get them out of my head?
End
Reviews for this would be greatly appreciate, but be kind. It's my first in the fandom. :)