December, 1984
Maybe Curt has been alone for too long. Too alone, too busy surviving, and too mind-numbingly bored lately - yet he had hardly even realized that until Arthur showed up. The last few days have been so good, and so hot. It's been almost like a return to his so-called prime.
Almost, only without being stoned all the time, and with a partner who might just be worth keeping around for a while.
Not that Curt is about to fall in love with Arthur or anything, certainly not in ten days. Hell, they've hardly even interacted aside from having sex. It's amazing how many hours they've spent just fucking and sucking and touching each other, in one way or another. If Curt has been surprisingly alone - even celibate, though he hates to admit it - then he can only imagine how Arthur must have been living; he is absolutely insatiable.
It's Curt who has actually contemplated trying to do more, as if they were dating, or something. Just last night he had really planned to surprise Arthur and take him out somewhere nice for dinner - just for the hell of it. Arthur had nixed those plans, however. Apparently Arthur is the kind of decent, diligent sucker who would stay late in an office on a Friday night if someone pressured him to. When he finally showed up at Curt's apartment, he had apologized and then all but jumped Curt at the door, derailing any sort of dinner plans other than post-sex pizza. The experience was worth it, though.
But this morning, Curt thinks he really will surprise Arthur. He might as well take advantage of the fact that he managed to wake up before Arthur, and, after getting washed and dressed, returns to his bedroom to stretch out beside him. He's quiet for a moment as he watches the younger man sleep. Then he realizes that this is far too sentimental and too slow, so he leans in closer to put his hand on Arthur's arm as he kisses him awake.
"Hey," he says.
Arthur opens his eyes and stifles a yawn. His face creases into a small frown as he looks Curt over.
"Hey - going somewhere?"
"I was thinking I'd buy you breakfast," Curt says. "If you don't have anything else to do this morning."
"No, that's great." Arthur smiles. "I just didn't bring a change of clothes.."
"Borrow something from me," Curt says.
They get up together. Curt makes his way into the spare room he uses as a studio, picks up his guitar and plays through part of a song, half-heartedly, while he waits. When Arthur steps out of the bathroom, he is wearing his own work pants and a faded gray t-shirt of Curt's - probably the most Arthur-appropriate thing he owns. Curt snickers a little when he sees that.
"What?" Arthur asks.
Curt is already on his feet and flinging a jacket over his shoulders. "Nothing."
Arthur follows Curt out of the room. "Where are we even going?"
"Somewhere nice and close. Come on."
They walk to a place Curt knows near his apartment. Several times Curt finds himself looking over at Arthur and grinning. This is actually one of the first times this week that they've been together without being in some sort of physical contact. He is aware that Arthur is watching him, confused, but neither breaks the silence until they reach their destination.
"Two," Curt says to the host. They sit down together, Arthur taking his time to look around. Curt hopes he's impressed. It's a nice place, clean, with hardwood floors, good food and drinks, and no pathetic Christmas music playing, even though it's that time of year.
"Thanks," Arthur says.
"It's nothing," Curt replies, then adds, "I actually need to eat something, too, you know. I haven't had much time to do that this week thanks to you."
Arthur smiles shyly. "Sorry," he says, probably more from habit than anything. "I - didn't hear you complaining 'til now, though."
"No. You're right."
A waitress passes by to take their orders. When she leaves, they find themselves sitting in silence once again.
"Tell me something about yourself," Curt says, quickly.
Arthur laughs, as if he is startled by the question.
"About me? There's -" he hesitates - "really not much to say. Nothing interesting, anyway." He shrugs. "I'm not like you."
Curt can feel his mouth twist into a grimace.
"My life's been nothing but NA meetings and trying to scrape together enough new music for an album," he says. "That, and a few gigs - nothing interesting at all. I'm sick of myself."
He lights a cigarette, wondering what all this must sound like to Arthur. His dark eyes have that same intense look in them that Curt remembers, or likes to think he remembers, from ten years ago. It makes him itch to know what Arthur's thinking.
"I'm sorry," Arthur says again, after a moment.
Curt shakes his head. "It's fine. It's a lot better than it could be - I just don't want to talk about me right now. I'd rather hear about you."
Another shy smile starts to spread itself across Arthur's face.
"I'm not used to that," he says.
"What, talking about yourself?" Curt grins. "Great. You can try something new. Besides, you look hot like that."
"Like what?"
Uncomfortable, confused but happy, Curt thinks, but doesn't say it. He shrugs and says "I don't know. Like you do right now."
Again Arthur hesitates.
"I don't know what to say. I go to work every day. I've - been doing some other writing on the side, as you know. I'm having an incredible time with you..."
"Good," Curt says, taking a drag on his cigarette. "What else? What are your friends like, family - if you have any?"
Arthur tenses then, just a little; his face becomes more guarded, and Curt realizes just what a misstep that was. Sure, who the hell would have a *decent* family? He exhales, hoping for some answer.
"I'm still pretty new here," Arthur says, after a moment. "And there aren't that many people I keep in touch with."
So he's as alone as I am, Curt thinks. He says, "I know what that's like."
The waitress returns with coffee, giving them the perfect excuse to be quiet for a while without seeming awkward. Curt crushes the stub of his cigarette into the ashtray and wonders what else to say. He wishes he could remember more of Arthur ten years before. Of course, this is yet another thing that he won't admit, but it had taken him almost their whole conversation after Brian's absurd Tommy Stone show to recognize Arthur at all. And yet, afterwards, he had gone home to find himself thinking about Arthur on and off, more than he had expected or cared to. Under his skin, was the word for it. Then he had seen Arthur's article, and that combined with Arthur's pen name had messed with his head and his memory even more. Still, he has, at least, sorted things out well enough to have placed Arthur as that sweet kid from after the Death of Glitter concert.
"You used to travel with the Flaming Creatures, didn't you?" Curt asks, hoping that he has figured right.
Arthur nods. Curt studies his face, but still can't read him.
"Didn't keep in touch with them, either?"
"No," Arthur says. He looks down at the table and folds a corner of the paper napkin absently. "They broke up after a couple years and, um, forgot me. Or we forgot each other."
Well, this is going from bad to worse, Curt thinks. And then he realizes that Arthur could just as easily be talking about him instead. It's Curt's turn to look down, suddenly guilty. He stares at the ashtray for a moment. He could hardly have had any kind of relationship with Arthur ten years ago - the idea is ridiculous - but just the same...
"Not that I'm complaining or anything," Arthur adds. "That had to happen eventually. I'm really lucky to have met them when I did; it was great while it lasted - probably the best time of my life."
"It's still pretty shitty," Curt says. And we could still be talking about me. "So I'm guessing you either jumped at the chance to write about all this, or you were dragged kicking and screaming..."
Arthur just shrugs, but Curt can see the smile pulling at his mouth again. "Something in the middle, I guess."
"Just, not the kicking and screaming type?"
"No." Now the smile has broadened enough to light up Arthur's whole face. Curt is surprised by how relieved he is to see that. "But I did get more - interested than I'd been in a long time. I mean, in work. I used to want to write about music a long time ago. It just never worked out."
"Well, how old are you?"
"I'm twenty seven," Arthur says, taking a sip of his coffee.
Curt would have guessed as much. He himself could have been dead at that age, and knows how lucky he is that things didn't turn out that way. But Arthur's life is nothing like that. He looks away to light another cigarette.
"You've got lots of time, if you still want," he says, then laughs.
"What is it?" Arthur asks. When Curt looks up, Arthur's eyes are on him, full and intense. Curt can't even begin to think why that look turns him on as much as it does. He shifts in his seat and takes refuge in teasing.
"Usually I fucking hate music journalists and critics and all that," he says.
Arthur raises one eyebrow - still smiling, Curt thinks; not really hurt or anything. Good.
"So why the exception for me?
For a moment Curt thinks about how he might describe the last ten days. He has enjoyed - no, needed - the companionship more than he would have thought, and has been having and enjoying sex far more now than he had been for several months. Of course he's all too aware that even the best fling or the most frequent, passionate sex is not half as satisfying as the warm oblivion of getting high, but Curt is not about to go back to that. He pushes the thought away.
It's been easier to live properly with Arthur in his life, these last few days. Arthur might be just the distraction Curt has needed. He's decent, and has what to say, and seems like he might get Curt, as much as any decent, normal person could. He's also great in bed - surprisingly passionate. Surprisingly kinky, too.
Curt takes a drag of his cigarette, wondering how to answer Arthur's question.
"I can make an exception for you because you're different," he says. "And hot - and sweet."
He throws that last bit in because he knows no better way to tease Arthur. As always, Arthur takes the bait. His cheeks flush.
"Thanks," he murmurs. "I think. And, um, this is probably a bad time to say this but we do need to do that interview at some point."
Curt sighs an exaggerated sigh. "Hey, I haven't heard you complain 'til now. We've had better things to do"
"I know," Arthur says. He is silent afterwards, but Curt thinks he can hear the satisfaction in Arthur's voice, and see it in the more fluid movement of his shoulders as he leans back in his seat – just slightly different, not as shy or as awkward as he had been a second before. The effect is almost enough to start making Curt hard. He wishes he could lean in close enough to cover Arthur's mouth in a crushing kiss, right now, in full view of everyone, and wonders if he can instead settle for touching Arthur's hand. He reaches across the table to stroke his wrist.
"You know I only agreed to that because I wanted to see you," Curt says.
Arthur's reaction is a wonderful thing to see; he coughs a little and nearly drops his coffee cup, but when he collects himself enough to meet Curt's gaze, the light in his eyes is brighter than ever.
"Are you ok?" Curt asks, laughing.
There's no question that Arthur is coming home with Curt once again. When they finish their breakfast (and Curt pays, despite Arthur's attempt to protest), he hardly even has to suggest going right back to his place.
They spend the early part of the afternoon in bed, fucking hard, then just lying together, spent. Even though it's much too early to even think about falling back asleep, Curt finds himself waking up an hour later. His limbs are entwined with Arthur's.
"I hope I'm not taking up too much of your time," Arthur murmurs. Curt forces a smile. Privately, the thought of being alone again makes him want to panic.
"It's fine," he says, as carelessly as he can. "We can watch T.V. or something."
Arthur sits up, laughing one of those quiet half-laughs.
"What?" Curt asks.
Arthur shakes his head. "It's just... someone like me, with someone like you..."
There's a hint of sadness, or awe, maybe - something annoying - in his voice that Curt just can't stand.
"What, up-and-coming music journalist with has-been rock star?" he asks. It works, too; he has to bite his tongue to keep from laughing at Arthur's reaction.
"That's not what I meant," Arthur says, very quickly. "Because I'm not - and you're definitely not. You said you were working on some new material, and I'm sure it's fantastic. Not that you need my input."
His eyes are so adoring when he says that, and his lips look so soft, that Curt is torn between wanting to take him by the hand into the studio to show off for him or just wanting to fuck him again, gentle and face to face.
The latter idea wins.
Eventually, though, Arthur does have to leave. He's hesitant about it, raising his head off the pillow, and mumbling something about having work to finish at home.
"Do you have to?" Curt asks, with more feeling than he intended. He masks it with a grin and reaches for a cigarette. "Do I have to tie you to the bed again to keep you here?"
Arthur closes his eyes briefly at the memory, satisfied. That had been hot. Then again, so is everything they've been doing together.
"Not today," Arthur says, once the moment has passed. He gets up to collect his clothes. "I can come around tomorrow if you want."
"Great," Curt says, taking a deep drag.
Arthur finishes zipping up his fly before turning back to face Curt again.
"Such a cliche," he says, taking the cigarette in his own fingers and leaning in to kiss Curt. Curt smiles against Arthur's mouth before breaking the kiss, putting a hand on Arthur's back. He can feel Arthur buckle from the strain of the awkward position, nearly collapsing back onto the bed.
"Careful," Curt teases. "Don't fucking burn my place down."
Arthur grins, straightens up. "I won't. I'll see you."
And even when Arthur leaves, Curt finds himself thinking about him still - missing the warmth of Arthur's body beside him in bed or on the sofa, and even rehashing things they said to each other in his head. Now is not ten years ago. Now, Curt is not about to forget Arthur when they're apart for a few hours.
It's not that he's falling for Arthur, exactly. It's just that what they've shared over the last ten days has been so damn good. Better than that, actually. Beautiful. Exquisite - like what he had with Brian, at first, or like that perfect glow of a high or a cigarette when he really needs it.
And, like all of those, it's left him feeling unsatisfied.