He reached out, and brushed a bedraggled lock from the other man's tired face. Still staring intently at each other, instead of breaking the tension, the instinctive motion had built it further.
Both wondered what had caused it. Both almost wished the action undone. Almost.
But it had felt good, for both, to be so close to the other, and that was okay, wasn't it?
Without warning, both grabbed the other to his body, hard, and a brief but terrible war was fought with their lips. Then, in perfect synchronization, they stopped, glared at the other accusingly, and sat back down.
The barkeeper sighed knowingly. It was going to be a long night.
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They were glam rock diva boys. The golden couple. But golden couples don't last forever. And they certainly don't survive orgies, drug use, marriages, contracts, concerts, and by far the hardest – the end of an era.
The irony struck him again. Curt, sitting across from him, was both everything he was, and everything he was not. Normally, that kind of thing worked for people. But not for them. They grated against each other like tectonic plates at a fault line, and the inevitable earthquake had ensued.
He wondered, for what seemed to be the infinite time, what would happen now. They couldn't live together, but were they brave enough to try to live without each other? So many mornings, he had woken up to that face – from various states of intoxication and inebriation – that it seemed likely that there was no alternative. Shit.
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Those eyes. They didn't belong in that pale face. They didn't belong in anything human, for fuck's sake.
But in a sense that fit, too. He wasn't human – he was a god and a faery and a fairy and a living, breathing, quicksilver song, all contrasts and as unpredictable as the sea.
Logic couldn't be used on Brian. Which really was just as well, all things considered, because logic had never been his strong point; beside which, it is damnably hard to be logical when you are out of your mind due to some chemical or another. And that seemed to be getting more and more often these days.
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The bar was near empty; it was past midnight and well into the next morning. Countless empty glasses cluttered the only occupied table, at which two men sat. One, blond, longhaired, a hardcore rocker. The other, effeminate, slight, and equally emanating musicianship. Both beautiful, in their own way, and both oozing sex, love, hate, and various other forms of passion. Mostly directed at each other.